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From
Whence I Came By Ken Shiovitz Summer
2003 I. When the loose knee cartilage suddenly locked, As he scrambled blindly through dense brambles, Frantically racing away from the soggy bank of the Prut, Muck still encrusting his hands and wrists, Flying in chunks from his bare feet and ankles, He flew helplessly into a young alder, Burning his shoulder against its smooth bark, Anointing his torso with welts and punctures, Yet he screamed only in silence. Jacob was a large man, and it took a dark night To cover his muffled swim across the border, In one immense burst of controlled courage, Not comparable to the charade of innocence, That brought him 100 miles from Rezeni,* South along the Dnestr River, Then west through fertile farmlands of Moldavia, To pass between the Czar’s border patrols, Until that moment when he slipped into the murky waters, Risking his life to forge otter-style toward freedom. Although he did not look much like a Jew, With red hair to almost match his bleeding skin, Jacob could not blend into the local populace, While still naked, scratched and hobbling, So he stole some rags and food scraps, Hid and slept during the day, And made his way through northern Romania, Along night-veiled wagon roads, Ever practicing his new name, Shiovitz, the son of Shia, An untraceable Russian label, That would not endanger his father, Yishia, Hebrew for Isaiah, Or any of the other Zborofsky family, Scattered throughout the Ukraine. |
