What did you think you’d do with the shoes,
When you felt the worn leather in your hands?
The masses of them in DC echo down the epochs,
But what of the moments
At night when the misery serenaded your sleep
And the dogs howled and the electricity buzzed through the fence?
Snapping into the emptiness on both sides.
The footprints of the death marches
Write prayers in the snow,
Punctuated with bodies
That never got to gain the weight back.
With every crack, blow; every
Fantastically nauseating
Contortion of humanity in your hands,
The utter dismemberment of dreams.

Weren’t you cold, Klaus?


~ by Jade Elizabeth on February 27, 2012.

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