Music,
Soaring music,
Floated through the air
As we stood for Appell,
As Kommandos
Marched to work
And back again.
Music to keep us calm,
To help us forget
The chimneys,
Starvation,
Death.
Civility mingled with ash.
Not a full orchestra
But violins,
Mandolins,
A flute,
And double bass.
Women pulled from the transports
To play.
Eyes closed,
It sounded
Like the phonographs
Papa once played at home.
I was transported
In time
And place
To safety
And love.
But it was just a moment.
Eyes opened
Back in the camp
I hated the women,
Prisoners,
Some with yellow stars,
Like me,
Wearing real clothes,
Not the coarse striped uniform,
But stolen clothes from off the transports,
Stored in warehouses we called Kanada—
A land of plenty, far away.
Their hair long enough to pull back,
Flesh on their bones,
Making beautiful music.
Entertaining the Nazis,
Making them smile
And laugh
As if they knew beauty,
As if they had hearts,
As if they had souls.
A woman,
Eyes closed,
Sang an angel’s song.
Her face
An expression
Of pure joy,
An emotion
I’d not seen for a long time.
But when she stopped singing,
Eyes opened,
Joy vanished.
I stared
And thought the woman
Caught my eye
But had to turn away.
Do you hate yourself
As much as I hate you?