We all knew
Mala Zimetbaum.
She’d been in the camp
longer than most.
She survived because
she was beautiful
brilliant
bold.
So beautiful
the Germans
did not cut her long blond hair
did not make her dress
in the coarse uniform.
So bright
the Germans
made her a Läuferin
a messenger
with privileges and responsibilities
running all over the camp
translating French, Dutch, Italian, and Polish.
she used her beauty and brilliance
to help
whenever she could.
Moving through the camp
on errands of mercy.
The Germans noticed
her pretty smile
sashaying hips
lighthearted laugh.
They did not notice
the photographs
she sneaked out of files,
the sweaters
she stole from Kanada,
the prisoners
whose work details she switched,
the medicine
she swiped from the prisoners’ hospital.
We all loved
Mala Zimetbaum.