They didn’t know about my papers.

Weren’t they worried?

My poker face, taught to me by my mother, was plastered on my face.

“Papers.” they had told me, “They’re the only way.”

They didn’t know about the road.

Were they wondering?

Hers were crumpled and wrinkled, having seen unimaginable things.

The officers, still searching the sheets.

Latvian women and children lined behind,

Who feared the worst,

Had seen the worst,

Lost their world.

Her eyes brimmed with tears,

Life brimmed with sorrow so heavy her knees buckled and head bowed

To lift it with fortitude would be to lift a mountain.

Winter forthcoming

And

War imminent.

On stone stricken ground,

The 

Sideways looks

Of disgust,

A war also internal. No hope, no faith, no trust.

Road long, flesh ripped and wounded,

Perhaps they’d mercy these women.

She prayed, as they all did.

Paused outer world, only a moment, though.

To pause it all was a beautiful thing.

Resting for only a moment,

And a moment so priceless, bringing hope, faith, trust.

Frozen breath leaving parched lips,

Too cold to feel a limb.

Death always looming

What time was it?

Right now. The only measurement obtainable.

Did we miss it?

I knew the freight car of the 11 AM train would contain bread.

Have hope, have faith, have trust.

To trust, was a death sentence. Not to trust, though, was a risk of even greater amount.

Pilfering food, the only means of life.

Her merit defaced,

Identity on hold, will I ever see you again, Maricelle? Have hope, have faith, trust only the trustable. Goodbye, Maricelle.

-Emory.