Dreaming

by Carmen Eichman

Grey lid dusk shuts. Train whistle blows
in quintessential quiet
coagulating thickly upon their flight
from a fevered Gestapo guard. It was a cracked egg
existence when chancellors challenged logic
while gorilla gulping champagne.
Run like you’ve never run
she hisses at her daughter,
horrific fear heralding within
their hated hearts. They segue , ferret,
hungering hope, through crooked hallowed halls,
their lungs list along dark walls. Into a black room
they hide. A silent hack racks
their ribs; he follows, fallow, soul as dry
as his tongue, spies the silent sisters,
grabs one, rakes, hooks
Hauptmann nails into saintly skin until
she grips his neck, bends him, breaks him
in two, a miracle, he mashes in her hands,
mangled, sociopathic, ideological shrine…

until the next run.