I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling. (73-78)
Once again, Lady L compares her suffering to that of the Jews. She imagines herself being burned to death in a concentration camp crematorium, as millions of Jewish people were. It's a bold connection to make, and she turns it into an accusation. Whoever is persecuting her is just as bad as the Nazis.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air. (82-84)
At the end of the poem, Lady Lazarus resurrects and returns from her death to inflict violence on those who hurt her. Is her suffering over with? Or will her next life be just as painful?