Arbeit Macht Frei
Booming, ‘all buttons fastened’ voices, ordering labor here, there. “Line up!” Say a prayer. Loud whispers and one snap. “Back to work!” in German tongue. Bones ache, Dirty water splashes onto our boots. Noises from a London pebble street, but with more despair. Another one shouting, Morning hour Dull, white faces aimlessly searching the muddy ground for something to eat. “Dig!” “Move!” “March!” “Arbeit Macht Frei” Climb up into bed, it’s important to share. Bow your head Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech ha'olam. (Blessed are You, Lord, our God) |
As the Sun Settles
Two hundred golden rings, four hundred shoes, and eight hundred cries. The young girls who peel the skin from their fingertips. The young men who fall to the ground, wailing in pain. The Nazis who smirk as despair spreads through their camp. The silent weeping when the sun settles, the quietest of whimpers when the guard walks by. The shivers that start in her teeth and drip down her back. The man who sleeps next to you, his breath that patterns the silence, and his crying mid-night. Holding your tongue, when they insult your mother. Standing still, when they breathe down your neck. Giving up on God, for his mercy is not infinite, and the whistling while they work, as the sun settles. |