Through the gates of Birkenau.
Through the countryside.
No billowing smoke.
No rancid smells.
Clean air.
Cold air.
Horizon filled with color.
But for the soldiers
with their guns
and angry shouts.
But for the dogs
with their teeth
and growling snarls.
But for the Aryan girls
Black Triangles
prisoners like us
but not like us
with their clenched fists
and hate-filled eyes.
Nine of us
trod through the forest
apart from the others
waited for the beatings
whippings
death.
A riding crop cut through the air
sliced a back.
I worked alongside the girl who saved my shoe.
I am Eta.
Small, like Necha.
Young, like Necha.
But brimming with anger,
like me.
For hours we moved rocks.
Nine Jewish girls
wrestled with boulders
Jacob wrestling with the angel.
The Aryan girls flirted with the soldiers,
disappeared into the woods
two by two
like Noah’s ark
he returned with a smile
and she with a cigarette.
An extra meal for Aussenkommandos
for hard labor outside camp.
Soldiers passed out bread.
First to the Aryan girls.
Smallest pieces
for us Jewish girls.
moldy and hard
as my anger
as my heart.
I bit my tongue.
Eta did not.
Eyes lowered
hands clasped before her.
Eta spoke just above a whisper
in German
to a boy in uniform
who looked no older than she
who might have smiled at her
on a street in Berlin
just a year or two ago.
His anger was harder than the crust of bread
harder than the boulders
harder than his fists.
Eta collapsed.
Jackboots stomped.
Fists clobbered.
Riding crops whipped.
Rifle butts smashed.
Billy clubs crushed.
I watched
teeth biting lips
until I tasted copper
bread churning stomach
until I lost what I had eaten.
Back to work!
For hours we moved rocks.
Eight Jewish girls
wrestled with boulders
Israel wrestling with God.
The Aryan girls flirted with the soldiers,
disappeared into the woods
two by two
like Noah’s ark
he returned with a smile
and she with a cigarette.
Eight of us
trod through the forest
apart from the others
taking turns
carrying Eta.
Even the dead needed to be counted at Appell.