After talking extensively about ghettos, then analyzing this photo of the little Polish boy, standing with his arms up, we read Peter Fischl's "To the Little Polish Boy" poem. I talk to my kids about ecphrastic poetry and they write ecphrastic poems, either addressing someone in the photo speaking as someone in the photo.
Below are some examples from this year's class.
To the Soldier
Big soldier with no heart,
Why do you think it is okay to kill us,
We are all people, no matter what,
I'm just a little boy with no toys,
Sometimes I wonder if this will ever stop.
Big soldier with no heart,
Will it ever stop?
How are you okay with doing this?
Imagine if you were me,
Big soldier with no heart.
One day I hope I am okay and alive,
You have no idea how badly I want to live,
I want to have a childhood and my parents too,
Big soldier with no heart,
Please let me go.
What if I was your kid?
Save me.
I beg you not to shoot,
Big soldier with no heart.
~Sydney Harris
From Where I Stand (perspective of the little girl)
From where I stand I see never-ending chaos.
As my heart races fast against my chest,
I ask myself, "What have I done?"
Screaming, Crying, Yells of Mercy.
I grip my mother's hand as long as I can,
Because I don't know if this will be my
Last moment with her.
From where I stand I see broken Stars of David.
Why will no one tell me what's happening?
I just want to go home and play all night long
People think words can't hurt anyone
But I'll never forget each vindictive word
That was thrown at us. At me.
These words left me bruised and broken.
From where I stand, everything around me has blurred.
Everything has become so numb to me so fast
I don't know why. I don't know anything.
Mommy, please don't ever let me go.
Weeping, Shouting, Yells of Agony.
My little heart aches. Aches for peace.
I know my Lord will save us from this nightmare.
From where I stand, I shed a tear.
A tear filled of lost happiness and faith.
~Sicely Baquedano
Young Soul
Your own palms raised in the air
like two white doves frame your meager face,
your face contorted with fear, grown old
with knowledge beyond your years.
Not yet ten. Nine? Eight? Seven?
Not yet compelled to mark with, a blue star on a white badge-- your Jewishness, your life.
You are standing apart, against the flock of women and their brood.
With blank, resigned stares.
All the torments of the harassed crowd are written on your face.
In your dark eyes, there is a vision of horror.
You have seen DEATH already in the ghetto streets, haven't you?
Do you recognize it in the emblems of the SS man facing you with his camera?
Like a lost animal you are standing
Apart and beholding your own fate.
~Emma Brusky
To the Little Girl
Sweet little eyes and a clear baby face,
Your childhood filled with guns and disgrace,
Wondering what's next,
Where are my parents,
Will I live?
So many questions and so many people lost,
Your sweet little eyes and clear baby face,
You deserve a perfect life,
I don't know if you are here or not,
Staring at the boy with his hands
terrified and hopeless,
Don't be afraid,
Sweet little eyes and clear baby face,
I wish I could change the world,
Make your childhood perfection
Make you forget it all,
I hope you survived,
I know your parents love you,
They wish they could have protected you,
Sweet little eyes, and clear baby face,
I'm sorry you experienced that,
Put a smile on your face.
~Ashlin Brumely
My Apologies
I'm sorry, little Polish boy...
My guns are pointed at you.
Your arms are held high, but
Your face is down low.
I'm sorry, little Polish boy.
I wish I could let you go.
But I have no choice but to let my guilt grow.
I'm sorry, little Polish boy.
As I saw the words, "Heil Hitler,"
I get hit with a breeze as cold as winter.
I'm sorry, little Polish boy.
I know I am a monster.
But I have to wear the mark of an imposter.
I'm very sorry, little Polish boy.
The choices I made were wrong,
And that is why you didn't live long.
I'm sorry, little Polish boy.
Even though my apologies mean nothing,
Please know that I am not lying.
I'm sorry, little Polish boy....
~Nereida Rizo
To the One with the Gun
The one with the gun,
My hands are up, please don't shoot,
As I walk past I wonder your thoughts.
Are you proud of the pain you've attributed to?
Or are you feeling remorse?
You send us to, what I assume is our death
With your gun held high, I don't wish to die.
Our hands up, we surrender our lives.
Let us go, please?
Let us free!
I surrender, I surrender.
My hands held high
Let me last.
To the one with the gun,
I feel no hate,
Know that you have done wrong to humanity.
My hands are up, please don't shoot,
To the one with the gun.
~Mehgan Thomas
To the Soldiers
Soldiers, soldiers
You were neighbors to me,
Friends to me,
Why point your gun at me and watch us all die?
Why are you hunting me and my children?
Do you enjoy the power?
Soldiers, soldiers
Why shall you take my children, my life, my house?
What have we done?
As you look me in the eyes as I slowly die
and watch me cringe
and try to ignore the smell of the flesh
of a human being
Yes a human being.
We were friends to you, welcomed you.
I hope you hate this power.
It will run out killing innocent children, women, sick, elderly, men, all of us.
How can you face it?
Soldier, soldier
This isn't very innocent, protective, or anything
Soldiers represent cowardly, utterly sad soldiers.
Soldier.
Revenge is coming.
~Molly Turner
