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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Aunt Jess</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our 'Aunt' Jess died just days ago; her partner phoned last night; <br>the funeral was private, perhaps for reasons which <br>we now might guess; a village can be peaceful, <br>but that's no guarantee they'll be accepted -<br>those too full of life to be discreet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, rest in peace, we say and mean; <br>most of us, thank God, not knowing un-peace in<br>its most extreme; <br>and now we'll never know the story which she only partly told<br>and which I could not bear to probe, <br>that night when she and I, then younger, talked about<br>that topic which some tiptoe gingerly around, <br>some leave unsaid. And why, I asked, <br>did someone tell me that she'd changed her name<br>eight times when still a child? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some live lives so livid red<br>that perhaps they're best not told; or if they are, <br>then carefully. In '44, towards the end of 'Hitler's war', <br>great bands of Jews from Eastern Europe, <br>from the camps, or outhouses of village farms, <br>cellars, sewers, God knows where, set out together from the East<br>ahead of those advancing Russian tanks, <br>and through the very heart - if that's the word -<br>of Germany; by night; and gathering on route<br>just like some ragged snowball, groups of the unidentified<br>and paperless; but soon too many souls there <br>not to draw a sentry's eye. Of that exhausted day<br>in Christian church when only she survived - and why -<br>you'd not believe, and I'll not tell. <br>So she, long orphaned, finally arrived, <br>and though few knew it, became a live memorial<br>to the eight families who, over the years, <br>had shielded her 'our child'. Destined, it seems, to live; <br>as lively aunt to child as anyone could wish.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when I'd heard from others close, <br>and gently guessed, more from her silences, <br>just what she'd suffered 'at the hands of men' -<br>so choice a phrase - or how survived, <br>I could not be surprised she chose to live<br>at ease with lover of her kind.. Aunt Jess, <br>should I be sorry that I didn't ask you more? <br>I did not like to pry; and you<br>so needed to get on with life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So yes, Aunt Jess: <br>please rest in peace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459613" data-title="Aunt Jess de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Our 'Aunt' Jess died just days ago; her partner phoned last night; 
the funeral was private, perhaps for reasons which 
we now might guess; a village can be peaceful, 
but that's no guarantee they'll be accepted -
those too full of life to be disc..."></div>
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