NOW

I see our father in my brother, Saul.

He, too, is a thinker.

Walks through his thoughts.

He has learned patience.

“Are we going?” I ask again.

“Wait,” Saul says.

He watches the guards.

They are coming and going.

They are everywhere.

Except when they are not.

Each day Saul reveals small cracks in time

with no guards

that we slip through.

“Are we going?” I ask again.

“Wait,” Saul says.

At night he lifts the wooden bunk we sleep on,

me in it,

and then I lift it, empty, over and over

until my arms ache.

“We need to be strong,” Saul says.

“Are we going?” I ask.

“Wait,” he says.

And then,

one night while I am sleeping

Saul shakes me awake.

I sit up quickly and the only words

I can think to say are,

“Are we going?”

“Yes,” Saul whispers.

“Now.”

Saul leads as we make our way

through an invisible maze.

We press ourselves into

the sides of barracks,

or into the earth.

He keeps me close.

I know he is determined to get out.

We make it to the fence

unseen.

It is a giant hurdle in front of us.

Our wills lace their fingers together to give

us a leg up.

We run at the barricade and are over it in what seems like

a single bound.

We feel our way through the night.

Are we going?

We are going,

going,

gone.