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red rooftops appear to glow in rainy-day haze
lost in memories of pre-war bliss
     she looks up to watch them bleed

pain is its own reward sometimes
better than the numbness 
     she so desperately seeks to leave behind

tiny poodle escorts her on La Rue de la Paix
peace has come to Paris at last
     but in her heart, agony lingers

she heard the Fuhrer took his own life
cyanide and a bullet, too merciful for a demon
     how her sweet Emil must have suffered in the death camp

his last gift to her, a red umbrella to offer shelter
at a time when he so direly needed protection
     from horrific torture, starvation, gas chambers

footsteps behind her; she pivots, her poodle barks
what’s this?  is rain playing tricks on her eyes?
     he presses his lips on hers and she knows     

yes, yes, these are Emil’s lips
still clad in a prisoner’s striped uniform, he holds her
     she feels his ribs as they embrace

autumn rain soaks the fashion district near their home 
while a violinist in a nearby café plays Chant des Partisans
     overwhelmed, she wonders, is this a dream or is he home to stay?
        



*Written November 1, 2018
N/A in The Red Umbrella Contest
Contest judged that 11/13/2018

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