e whisper beside wrought iron figures
writhing in remembrance in front of the museum door.
Inside, flags of all nations slump in sad recognition
of horrific photos that bruise our minds

We whisper as we pass through
pristine, graveled rows where bulging barracks
once shrouded their fragile captives with hatred.
One building stands alone now—new, unscathed,
its slatted bed-shelves...empty.
Gas chambers and open-mouthed ovens lurk behind
brick walls, their hungry stomachs clean...and empty.

In a tiny chapel, a Lutheran pastor
shares his memories of survival. Nearby, a menorah
crowns a Jewish shrine with its message of miracles,
arms outstretched toward the silent God of Israel.

Gray-black clouds roil above us...
the stench of history clogs our throats with silence.


   

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