Nazi stories with Grandma

She swallowed hard, dry saliva
under graveyard white cloth
hushed by Dr. Chekov,
he carrying life-less to the sky in silent fires
where the bread is usually baked.

Stiff-robed Ckekov clutched the icy cart,
Dr. Checov was like a father to me,

she explained to me between tears that mazed
down the crackling rivers of her face.

I became nervous, I thought I was going to die.
They traveled down the path running over dead bones.

Halt, was ist das?
Her eyes became knifer,
all she saw were green silhouettes

Reminiscing her childhood,
grassy picnics in derevina
with her warm mother,

sie ist tot,
Dr. Chekov proclaimed.
I was dead, inside, they had taken away my soul,

we said our goodbyes that burned like
numbers in my arms,
then I was alone, among grass and carcass.