seeing heaps of unbreathing women

upon unbreathing women

not even death itself could have rivaled

the lack of moving air between them.

sticks, rickety starved dolls

persecuted from pure lands

bulldozed

falling one over the other

rotting hands clawing at emaciated figures for

some space in the pile

sardines packed into sick oil, coal dust for blankets

sun light not even touching the wire circles

nooses repulsion hung from the sky

not for the pile but for the crowds watching

behind them

and looming over them tall sheds of evil

peeling green paint like fungus

that made the guards there

look human but before them

sprawling grass, green again

and stones paving the ground

black like night

black like uniforms

and beneath the painfully existent ashes

unbreathing, the heap

before a man grabs their legs

ankles thin like razor blades

and bleeding invisibly from the cut

the man shoves their body into

a large cavity, reminiscence of before,

and fire tempering the lost hope

and the unpureness

into memory, remembering

the crime committed

in my backyard.