Forgiveness

For Mutti

More than 17 years ago, on your last day,
you left your “Sabbath…Study Guide” open
to a page on forgiveness;
you were only a few years older than I am now.

Still, your multitude of sad, unspoken words
rise up from the depth of our shared
her-story and haunt my hours.
Mother, Mutti, it was never your fault.

Though it is no longer a misfortune
to be born in a family that did not
produce first born male heirs but daughters,
the guilty consequence remained for generations.

In spite of all odds, thanks to you,
I survived Hitler, as well as Stalin’s starvation camps.
And today, as a rough, fearful winter continues to invade
this spring, I release an ancient anger to honor you.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
April 4, 2018

another massacre, the same excuses,
platitudes and insincerities; a numbness
covers the landscape like a wash of despair.
The brave ones must help us pierce through,
to regain our humanity and the lives of our youth.

Gudrun Mouw (c)
February 16, 2018

I see you standing on sand,
during one of our desert trips,
among tiny spring blooms and shrubs,
wearing your inevitable hat,
a long, thick braid hanging down your well-matched

shirt and belted pants. I have lit candle after candle
since you passed, holding my photo of you,
sending you wishes on this unexpected journey,
which you had not anticipated when last we talked

only a few days ago. I was happy you remembered
our friendship, despite the winter threats
of which you accused yourself. May you be free.
May you have ease beyond that beyond
about which we so often wondered.

Gudrun Mouw (c)