Week after week.
Of nothing.
Sitting.
Outside.
In the snow.
Waiting.
For the first month
our group was separated from the others.
A prison within a prison.
Allowing time
fear
fatigue
to do what the Selections
had not.
Some girls went mad
laughter that was not merry.
Others stopped caring
hunger that turned to starvation.
Necha folded in on herself.
I’m tired,
she said.
I forced her
dragged her
cajoled her
We must keep strong.
It will keep you warm.
If you walk with me,
I’ll share my bread with you.
Each week
fewer of us remained.
Waiting.
In the snow.
Outside.
Sitting.
For nothing.
Week after week.