Elizabeth Porter

Chaperoning American Teenagers through Dachau Concentration Camp

for Grace

this is what I remember:
the gravel, like regret, but more coarse,
absorbing my footsteps, making each step
an effort in propulsion—I’m wading backwards

the door to the museum stretches away
a student near the entrance clasps a bag
while scanning for adults—that's me
assigned to follow and comfort 

but as if in a dream where the destination
evades—just ten more yards
and I'm brushing shoulders with teens
in the holy gravity of silence

we are river of rememberers
our eyes adjusting to deeptime
darkness—outside a common bird
lifts toward the branches in an arc

throwing shadow over a sculpture
of bodies tortured and tangled—
we return to the courtyard blinking
our steps forced and rigid

what can be said that hasn't been?
the sentinel trees warn of lingering
without learning

two students swipe through phones
one cries softly into sweater sleeves
the muffled vowels of other languages
float and turn stale

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Elizabeth Porter writes and teaches high school in south-central Pennsylvania. Her work has previously appeared in Dunes Review, Moria Literary Magazine, Ballast, Unbroken Journal and elsewhere.