Caroline Hannah
August 1936
It’s nearly your fifth birthday.
But you’re not celebrating, you’re packing,
nervously, intensely. And with as much concentration
as a nearly-five-year-old can hold.
It’s a hot, sour day,
with the sun hanging limpidly
in the Berlin sky, again.
You tug at your dress. Your mother
is shoving more clothing into suitcases.
Books. Papers. Receipts. Who knows
what you’ll need in the new world?
A sudden shout on the street outside. You freeze
paling rapidly, guts churning. Moments pass
as the clock ticks relentlessly. But…nothing happens. You start
to breathe again, the colour returning, your mother huffing
as she lifts a heavy parcel. It was nothing. Probably
just some kids playing on the street. Nothing.