In the night
we hear whispers of the impossible:
“Americans are coming from the West,
Russians from the East.”
The wolves walk around trying to look innocent,
feathers hanging out of their mouths.
Those of us who still have life in us
are marched away at gunpoint
to a faraway camp.
We travel only at night.
The Nazis are thieves,
and we Jews are being stolen.
We feel our way
through the darkness,
through countrysides,
through forests,
and we are given nothing but orders.
March by night. Sleep by day.
No food.
No water.
Our journey looks bleak.
No food. No water.
But we want to survive:
We make our own food and drink.
We drink the dew from blades of grass
and then eat the evidence.