Aviva

She sat there in the cubicle, 

with eyes closed 

trying to 

drown out the cries 

of tortured souls that still rang in her ears 

and 

the pungent odor of billows of smoke 

that screened the crimson haze of gray vision that 

numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder 

of Dachau, 

now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. 

In her mind, where footsteps are stationary 

and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed 

in the silent passageways, 

the faded pictures 

breezed through her memory. 

Their voices were now

 silent and the curtains drawn to hide 

the reflections 

in the mirror 

of her eyes that belied 

the mourning of her heart.

 #

photo credit: dachauscrapbook