Aviva

She sat
there in the cubicle, 

with eyes closed 

trying to 

drown out the cries 

of tortured souls that
still rang in her ears 

and 

the pungent odor
of billows
of smoke 

that screened
the crimson haze
 of gray vision that 

numbed her
senses as she tried to forget
the painful reminder 

of Dachau, 

now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. 

In her mind,
where footsteps are stationary 

and the labored sound
of hoarse breathing
echoed 

in the silent passageways, 

the faded pictures 

breezed through her
memory. 

Their voices were now

 silent
and the curtains
drawn to hide 

the reflections 

in the mirror 

of her eyes
that belied 

the mourning of
her
heart.

 #

photo credit: dachauscrapbook