“Where is God?” whisper the Jews in the camps,
as a rim of black smoke
swallows the blue sky.
And just 200 years earlier—
“Where is God?” groan those crammed into slave ships,
their bodies ravaged by smallpox.
And 600 years ago—
“Where is God?” murmur those consumed by the plague,
as limp bodies
line the once-bustling streets.
Yet God,
with fingers curled under a rusty nail,
is in every cough of the sick,
every sigh of the weak.
God,
with blood still dripping from his crown,
fears the threat of Hitler,
sits in the infested labor camps,
and watches
the blue sky
turn a smoky black.
Mothers
who gaze into the eyes
of their depleted daughters
look into the eyes of God.
Fathers
who cradle their dead sons
cradle the face of God.
Brothers
who search for their missing sisters
search for a bleeding God.
Sisters
who tend to their ailing brothers
tend to the wounds of God.