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.
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photo credit: dachauscrapbook
