Hundreds of girls pushed forward.
Led into the Sauna.
Take off your clothes!
Those who asked, Why?
Regretted it.
I remained quiet.
Arms crossed,
Covered what I could
From soldiers’ stares.
I’d lost my white dress
Long ago
And had no possessions,
But another transport
Arrived the same time
Mixing those of us from Stutthof
With women and girls,
Fresh from home,
Their worldly possessions
On benches,
Hung their dresses
On pegs in the wall
As if to reclaim them.
I didn’t know
What was happening,
What would happen,
But I knew enough
To know
They’d never see
Their belongings,
Dresses,
Hats,
Scarves,
Handbags
Again.
But it hurt
My heart
Too much
To tell them.
Abandoned in a pile
Clothing,
Shoes,
Jewelry,
Books,
Drawing paper and colored pencils.
Scissors,
Cold against my scalp.
Shorn hair drifted
To the floor.
Riding crops whistled through the air.
Lashed against bare skin.
Screams bounced off
The tiled walls.
Mach schnell!
We rushed forward
To avoid the beatings.
We rushed backward
To avoid the beatings.
Mach schnell!
What had we done
To deserve such abuse?
In the room of naked women,
Holding hands
With the girls from Łomża,
I’d never felt so
Alone.
A voice called,
Necha?
Worried.
Brave, since any sound brought down the riding crop.
Doused with cold water.
Scrubbed with lye soap
Rough against my skin,
Stung my eyes.
The voice again
Necha?
Frightened.
Mach schnell!
A riding crop to the back,
The face,
The legs.
Another girl,
Her eyes wild with more than fear
Fell to the floor
Laughing.
Taken away.
Not even covered before they dragged her outside.
The voice again,
Necha! Where is Necha?
Joined by a second voice,
Zlatka?
Necha was younger,
Though not as young as Mushke.
Thinner,
Frailer,
Already.
Zlatka about my age.
Capable,
Stronger,
Already.
Sisters.
Family resemblance
Obvious
Despite their bald heads.
I had to tuck thoughts
Of Mushke
Away.
Necha,
The younger one,
Laughed.
Teetered to the edge of madness.
Zlatka,
Shook Necha’s shoulders
Until she looked into her eyes.
Then Zlatka said,
You look like Lázaro.
Her voice strong, but playful.
You look like Iser,
Necha said.
They both laughed
Until other women stepped away
Until riding crops were raised.
Still,
I watched,
Missing Mushke.
Laughter,
Not of the mad
But of the living.