Kaddish

When you left the earth
and climbed over tile rooftops
at night
storks on chimneys watched you
silently process
and taught their young
the prayers of Kaddish.

Pilgrims on a journey without guides
like aborigines you sense the way
comfortable with clues--a broken branch,
embers of a fire extinguished long ago.

Today I open the family album
in the attic of the house Mertonstrasse
and find ten-thousand ways to attempt
absolution.
Ten-thousand memories to bless, to possess,
to let fly from the cornices of the window.

Memories like streaks in marble or
flashes of phosphorescence in a purple sky
quietly invade our lives.
This album uncovers lost cities
the shtetls of East European Jews,
an Atlantis sunk beneath the covers
of our lost childhood.

At each turn, we cross ourselves and bless
the world with your memories.

Edith Hollander and Otto Frank
honeymooning in San Remo, 1925

Margot with the watering can, 1929

Edith with her daughters shopping
near Hauptwache, 1933

Margot and Anne at the Bretano swimming pool
iceskating in Vondelpark,
dressed in costume for a birthday party.

And later at the exhibition
blown-up fotos of the Annex
walls decorated with postcards of film stars,
an entrance concealed by a bookcase,
a picture of the Westertoren clock
in the church next-door striking the quarter hour.
Anne says, "especially in the night
it's like a faithful friend."

Now you continue to sail the seas of heaven
like Celtic monks without rudders.
Following the ruah, the divine breath of wind
you find Jesus asleep in his boat
and the fisher king who looks for him
has an empty net, his wound infecting
the kingdom.
Everyone waits for Parsival
to ask the question which will unlock
the buried truth within
and bring us all to life again.

While waiting
we join Elijah on his pilgrimage,
singing lamentations with Ezekiel,
and dancing with David.
For the Shekinah continues to dwell
among the people,
a hidden river, an inner flame.

We see you cross clouds
on the climb to Mt. Zion,
past bridal chambers under canopied arbors,
and lovers dancing on the edge of darkness,
children in the arms of trees,
old men sitting wrapped in smoke,
and women making latkes.

From far away now
we still continue to hear your song.
Carried down a bridge of stars
it reaches us, calling to our hearts,
ani ma amin.

Marijo Grogan lived and worked in Adrian, Michigan at the time this poem appeared. March 1987 marks the 42nd anniversary of Anne Frank's death in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.

References
Kaddish: Jewish prayers for the dead
Shtetl: Jewish ghettos in Eastern Europe
Shekinah: Indwelling presence of God
Ani Ma Amin: A song sung by Jews on the way to gas chambers during World War II. The words translate as, "I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the Messiah, and even though he tarry, every day I await his coming."