UNINVITED GUESTS

Our uniformed visitors

were like guests who didn’t know

the party was over.

They stayed.

The city of Kielce housed the largest population

of Jews in Poland.

And yet, the wolves loomed large, overshadowed us.

Not more,

but mighty.

There was something

about them,

something that said they weren’t visitors,

something not quite human.

Their eyes followed us,

as if we were something good to eat.

We forgot who we were.

Skittered around like rabbits

trying to make ourselves small.

If we saw one Nazi soldier,

we knew there were others close by.

They loped about,

their noses pointed toward the sky

as if they were trying to pick up a scent.

We admired our shoes, the ground beneath our feet.

We dared not look into their eyes.

We looked down

in submission

and backed away slowly.

With each fearful step we thought we were giving them

Kielce.

But we were wrong.

They were taking it.