by Tammy Smith
Three years
since the massacre—
short but long
enough to remember
the horrors of captivity,
being stripped of safety
at home and abroad,
in our houses of worship,
on stinky subway platforms,
afraid to wear a yarmulke,
hang a mezuzah,
slipping a Jewish star
on a gold chain
beneath a business suit.
since the massacre—
short but long
enough to remember
the horrors of captivity,
being stripped of safety
at home and abroad,
in our houses of worship,
on stinky subway platforms,
afraid to wear a yarmulke,
hang a mezuzah,
slipping a Jewish star
on a gold chain
beneath a business suit.
Hope is harder to find
standing among crowds
of hostile strangers
blocking the closing doors.
Tammy Smith is a licensed clinical social worker from New Jersey. Her work has appeared in Thimble, ONE ART, Bending Genres, The New Verse News, and elsewhere. She received honorable mentions in the Journal of New Jersey Poets 2026 Poets Prize and the 2026 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards.