Smoke: A Witnessing

Those not gassed
        directly from trains
those survivors herded
                naked in the cold

female Polish kapo sheared
        our hair, without soap or water
with crude razors, shaved
               our heads.

Looking at each other
        we barely recognized familiar
faces, distorted by fear.

Electrified fences, and touching
        meant instant death. Why
didn't we rush the fences
                and die? To this day
I do not know.

Smoke stacks belching stinking
        black ash near the gas chambers,
darkening the sky. Even then
                we could not believe.

I asked: When would I see my mother again?
        She went to the "other" side
Look at the smoke, someone said.