Afterlife at Auschwitz by Bethany Sales

I can’t picture your eyes across this divide, but I can still trace over the scars. The broad strokes, the pinks and purples that blended together to paint a mosaic of your more reluctant victims. It was windy that day, that much I know. That day my ashes rose in pirouettes and each cinder whispered my name. Never had I reached such great heights. I was eleven in 1940, smaller than most my age, but I shone brightly. Some called the light beautiful. Do you remember me? You worked the oven, and the oven worked me into ash and cinder. In soot, not long since flame, I fell quietly upon your unadorned collar and mocked your uniform with dust-ridden stars as dark as night. My grays and blacks formed a patchwork that smoldered warm with shame. Your shame. I hope they’re right about guilt, whoever they are that say it’s a burden. I forever rest on your shoulders, and I pray to your god I weigh you down.

Bethany Sales received a bachelor’s degree from Providence College in English, Magna Cum Laude. She is a graduate student at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts, studying the art of writing. Her canvas is typically a blank word document, or, for proximity’s sake, grill slips from the diner where she waitresses. This is the first piece Bethany has submitted for publication.