his eyes were singing ghostly blues
blue weather clung tight to the sky that day
his hair was light, just barely blonde
how lucky you are, i told him
how lucky you are
i am so young but i know
how lucky you are

don’t talk to me like that, he said
but he held my hand
the ******* sewn to his left arm
harmless men can be forced
to bring harm to others
at the drop of a dictator’s hand

i had barely ever seen snow fall and he said
he’d never seen snow quite like this
red stuck gummed to the crystals
and the stove pipe chimneys choked out
skin charred like burnt paper
so white
they had died in the dark

i’m sorry, he said
how old are you, he said
five years old, i said
he shook his head
and led me towards the doors
of buchenwald