A visitor comes to see Janek.
Another farmer.
A friend.
“I have news,” he says.
I am listening to everything he says.
He tells Janek and my father that
the Nazis have come,
but they aren’t bothering anyone.
All is quiet on the outskirts of Kielce.
My father blushes
at his extreme measures.
Two months hiding in a barn.
My mother touches his arm.
We say good-bye to Janek.
Thank the barn occupants
for sharing their home.
They roll their eyes,
chew clumps of hay.
Good riddance, they say as they
spread out into the space we’ve left behind.
We are delirious.
We are going home.
We were not thinking clearly.
We went home too soon.