Doctor Edith Stein from Breslau
flew out of a chimney at Auschwitz
on the ninth of August
of the year one thousand nine hundred
forty-two
She was going up straight and enormous into the sky
like the pillar of smoke from Abel's offering
She was silent
the best pupil of Husserl
who understood even before the master
that one should stop playing the philosopher
when God approaches
She went in silence
the wise sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross
when two brown-shirt archangels
rattled on the door of the convent calling
Doctor Edith Stein
Did a short cry burst from her breast
when they tore off the black veil
of the one betrothed to the Lamb
Great Sister
I'd like to ask you so many quastions
especially when the grace of meaning
deserts the pages of days
and the leaves even of wise books
Why do you answer me stubbornly
with a simple writing of smoke
and I still afraid to understand
