Next Door

　　by Joan Selinger Sidney

　　Oaks drag alongside the road，

　　weighted by yesterday‘s snow.

　　There‘s Frauka walking alone，

　　the hood of her parka

　　snow-lit against the trees.

　　I pull over. How is he？ But before

　　I can answer， I see them last

　　summer： Frauka， and Father

　　leaning on Mother， wanting to believe

　　her will can make him well.

　　Sitting on the lawn，

　　pretending to read， I am unable

　　to tell them， My legs won‘t walk.

　　Go on without me.

　　Eleven years I‘ve protected them—

　　Holocaust survivors—by not naming

　　my disease. Wishing them dead

　　before they‘d see me in a wheelchair.

　　Frauka whispers， My younger brother

　　died one day before your father.

　　Tears rim her eyes， her slim

　　body shivers in the wind.

　　For a moment we are closer

　　in our sorrow than we‘ve ever been

　　Next Door

　　by Joan Selinger Sidney

　　Oaks drag alongside the road，

　　weighted by yesterday‘s snow.

　　There‘s Frauka walking alone，

　　the hood of her parka

　　snow-lit against the trees.

　　I pull over. How is he？ But before

　　I can answer， I see them last

　　summer： Frauka， and Father

　　leaning on Mother， wanting to believe

　　her will can make him well.

　　Sitting on the lawn，

　　pretending to read， I am unable

　　to tell them， My legs won‘t walk.

　　Go on without me.

　　Eleven years I‘ve protected them—

　　Holocaust survivors—by not naming

　　my disease. Wishing them dead

　　before they‘d see me in a wheelchair.

　　Frauka whispers， My younger brother

　　died one day before your father.

　　Tears rim her eyes， her slim

　　body shivers in the wind.

　　For a moment we are closer

　　in our sorrow than we‘ve ever been

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