I am eight when we first heard them.
While the sun kisses the treetops,
Mother is in a panic
Screaming for sister
Grabbing her by the collar.
Booming carries from a mile away,
Sweet percussion of a death rattle.
Bitter drums of militant clatter,

numb and hypnotic heartbeat of their boots.

I listen as they turn to my neighborhood.
Mother knows they will come for us.


Goose-steppers divide at their middle seam,
kicking in doors on both sides of the street.
The man at the end wears an enormous hat.
He yells at them,

“Hunde töten die Juden, töten für das Vaterland!”
  (**** the Jew dogs, **** for the Fatherland)

The same thing every time.

(They take the people who wore sacred stars                        Two of them kick in our door
                               On the front of their shirts                           I tear my star from my shirt,
                                                          ­like me.)                              throw it to the ground.

They assail our stairs, hand cannons aimed.
screaming at me, louder and louder.
I break,
They laugh.
the big one charges towards me.
I flinch, he laughs louder.

grabbing my hair,
Dragging me into the streets.
My neighbors stand beside me.
Transfixed stone pillars
I, and them
Fear-stricken.
Hollowed eyes,
Robbed of all.
robbed of hope.

I, and my neighbors
put behind a fence.
Slamming behind us,
chains and locks.

Mother yells for me.
She cries,
I hear it.
I try to stay strong
Like father.
Like a soldat.

I look back at the crowd that storms the gate

My town yells,
people cry.
screams become muffled

Stone soldier, I
speak to the hillsides,
to the trees, to the streets, and to mother.

I call out to my world,

"à tout le monde,
à tous mes amis,
je vous aime,
je dois partir.

Ceux-ci sont les derniers mots que
je jamais parlerai.

Et ils vont me libérer.”