THEY’RE COMING

The color of the sky is changing.

I lie awake at night

listening to my parents’ voices.

Their words tiptoe across the air.

“They are coming,” my father whispers.

My mother says to him,

“You must go to America, like your brother.

Then send for us.”

Her words are urgent.

They rush about.

I feel a cool wind blow into the room.

My father’s reply is a sharp axe.

“I will not leave you,” he says.

“I will not leave our children.

The wolves are coming.”

I pull the covers over my head.

The Nazis are not here yet,

but fear has already captured us.