I prayed for you today, 
remembering 
the image of your tiny fingers 
clutching 
your mother’s sleeve 
while your eyes darted 
sadness 
and 
terror 
through a lens so broken 
it’s a miracle the picture was even born. 
What I thought my prayer might accomplish, 
I do not know, 
but I prayed anyway, 
knowing your fate was probably death 
or 
at 
the 
very 
least, 
separation from your mother’s sleeve.
Oh, how your fingers must have remained 
clutched in that 
sadness 
and 
terror 
all your life – 
that is
if you had been blessed enough to live it.
Maybe that is why I prayed 
and what my prayer might be 
for all those like you:  
I pray for that clutching to be relieved 
in a reunion with your mother’s sleeve, 
if not in this life 
then in the next.

Photo in the Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.