Johanna Nassauer Blum

I found you in Berlin.
My blood.
Perished mysteriously.
In the mechanics of war.
In the middle of a field
of pillars so high
no sight around corners
just the crunching of snow
the marching of feet
the prison strip light
the bodies just glimpses.

When you enter you vanish
and who knows where is the exit?
You lose track of directions.
You only hear tongues.
You learn to trust intuition.

And I am fortunate.
As my hand writes,
getting colder and colder,
I can put gloves on
and walk into a warm building
as a Jew.