No Heroes: A Memoir of Coming Home

Poetry Saves Irene

We had a poetry group behind the latrine. We got together from the same barracks with Elona Carmel. She started the whole group. I don’t know her married name. We gathered together behind the toilets, where we were safe. Each one prepared something. We had pieces of paper from me because I worked in the paper factory. Elona wrote a poem and we listened, and then each one, whatever they could deliver, a poem, some thoughts, some hopes, some descriptions. When I think back, this is like a little sunshine opening.

It was not allowed to do that. That was taking a chance, but we did. These little gatherings made a big difference and I was not taken. I was not destroyed. Maybe outside, but not mentally. Poetry saved me.