I woke one morning
My back prickled
With sweat
Despite the frost from my mouth
When I breathed.
Bronia, Guta, and Giza
Climbed from the Koje.
I followed
But Zlatka remained,
Her pale cheeks
Flushed red,
Her smooth forehead
Beaded with sweat.
Unsteady on her feet—
I helped Zlatka stand in line
For her morning ration.
I said,
You’ll feel better
Once you eat.
She smiled and said,
Yes, wouldn’t we all.
The blockova stared hard
At Zlatka.
She asked.
No, no, no,
I said.
Sickness would send Zlatka
To Block 25
Like her sister
Necha.
No, no, no,
I said,
Convincing myself
More than the blockova.
It’s just …
She has …
It’s her time of month.
None of us had bled
In months
In a year.
But it was all
That came to mind.
I looked the blockova
Right in the eye
Without flinching
And lied.
It was absurd.
So absurd
She believed me.
Who would tell such a blatant lie?
I gave Zlatka my morning ration.
Left her with Bronia, Guta, and Giza.
Ran to find Mala Zimetbaum.
If Mala could get aspirin,
Even just a few,
Zlatka’s fever would pass.
Marching to the factory
Sweat dripped down my back
Despite the cold.
My heart climbed
With every step
Up my throat.
If Zlatka stumbled,
Fell behind,
Collapsed
They would take her away.
We marched
Around her
Bronia,
Guta,
Giza,
Trying to keep her hidden
Trying to keep her moving.
Zlatka marched,
Her face burning
With fever
As if her spine were made
Of steel.
At work
At the table
All the girls
Worked harder
To do Zlatka’s
Portion.
She rested
When no one was looking.
Looked busy
When the Kapo
Came by.
That night
In the Block
A packet
From Mala.
Four small aspirin.
A miracle.
A life.
In two days
Zlatka’s fever broke.
Zlatka never did.