POEM: Second Cemetery of the Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue

Second Cemetery of the
Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue

Wedged fiercely into place,
the smallest graveyard in Manhattan
holds its ground against the grid,
mourning its fallen neighbors.

Silence has settled over these stones
where once Portuguese and Spanish
intoned the blessing of Yahweh,
sought solace for resting souls.

An obstinate triangle of rock and dirt
shelters the few remaining markers;
faded, illegible, forgotten.
The families who mourned

lost fathers and mothers,
read Kaddish over the bodies
of brothers and sisters,
are themselves lost like seeds on the breeze.

Perhaps they’ve left this island of
concrete, stone and shadow,
called away by greener pastures
across the river.

Or perhaps they’re speaking English now
at synagogue, lighting candles
to the old bones waiting
patiently on West 11th Street.

2 November 2012
Auburn, AL

/ / /

This poem was inspired by a story from scoutingny.com, a blog that all lovers of New York City should read. The photo at the top of this post is also from that site.