The Unspoken Past Poem by Tony-Cemaluk Egbuonu

I can't talk of it.
I was conceived there and born here.

My father couldn't tell me, he left before I could discern,
but my mother did.

The plot, the pogrom, the plight, the flight,
and the sight haunted him to home till he left.

Mother can't tell lies to me;
her husband had a narrow escape by boarding the last train.

A bruised lap was there to tell the story of jumping into a moving train to safety.