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Moths*
by S.J. TylerMy bald, soot covered sister
Grabs my cold, clammy hand
Trying to meld us together
Like Siamese twins
I love you, I tell her
She is trying
She is not too little to understand
She is not too little to be afraid
Or to sense the death around us
Ahead of us, only a few feet
A soldier
Beats a woman
Because she will not let go
She will not give up
Her daughter
He continues to beat her
Her body a lifeless bag of bones
He smiles and gives her one last kick
He blows a whistle
Two other men pick up the woman
And rush her to the front of the line
Her daughter is moved to another line
I wipe tears off my sisters face
An innocent face
Who did not deserve to bear witness
To the cruelty we all endured
Cold, she is shivering
Stop crying, I tell her, you have to look brave
She squeezes my hand even harder
She stops crying and tries to stand straight
The line moves. A chill runs through our bodies
We look ahead to the endless stream of
Black smoke and ashes
She is too little to know what that is
She is too little to know where the woman was taken
But I am not
The guards ripped our hands apart
And ordered us to give them our clothes
They pushed us with the barrels
Of their shining black guns
Further and further ahead
She falls onto the dry dusty ground
Covered with footprints of millions
So easily erased by the wind or
Another body stepping , being pushed, over
I grab her small, white, sticklike arm
I am afraid it will snap
She flies up into my arms
Dont let go of me she
Repeats over and over
She is crying again
This time I just let her
We continue to be pushed
By the crowds and the soldiers
The ambient heat tickles our icy skin
We involuntarily move toward it
Like moths to the hot flame
Hungering for the slightest rise in body temperature
But like moths to a flame
We all knew, even my sister
That we would not ever know the
Feeling of being cold
Again.
04/02/2002 Author's Note: Published (Holocaust Memorial Writings)
Posted on 08/19/2003
Copyright © 2025 S.J. Tyler
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