Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2014
The mountain of hair preserved
behind glass, hit you
in the stomach, stole
your breath, until you doubled over, tears
streaming down your face. The mountain
of hair, preserved behind impassive glass
sickened you, your stomach roiling
and twisting in your abdomen, while
you looked on, noticing
how tangled and matted
it all was, how it was piled in uncaring
heaps, as if every single strand
had not been attached to the head
of some woman. Even
the tiny blond braid, hiding quietly
in the middle.
Auschwitz, Poland
Monday, March 24, 2014
11:20 AM

from my collection, Poems from Poland
Written by
   Yoni Sav
Please log in to view and add comments on poems