The Silence of Hiding in Our Clothes

Wearing every article of clothing
We pedaled through the
panicking streets at dusk.
The eyes and their glares were so strong
we thought for sure they could see.
Crooked little crosses everywhere.
And they stared.
They marched, on feet and in cars.
They searched for the
marks and the numbers.

We hid in our shirts and pants
with four pair of underwear beneath.
We pedaled.
We pedaled and we prayed
that no one would notice our clothes
or the looks on our faces
as we worried under the weight of war.

We had to be liars on tires
pedaling through the streets
of what was once our home.
Wearing every piece of our clothes,
I shoved my paper in my pants
and kept my laces tied.

Good God we had to make it.

The bumps in the cobblestone
were like mountains…
and the men in their coats
were like fountains
spewing threats of eternal damnation

          “Wear the mark!

           Wear the mark!”

   They shouted.

We tucked our heads down,
and rode,
and felt every inch of stone
as the perspiration rolled
down our backsides.
This was our lives on that dusky night,
using the shadows to hide us.
Using the darkened streets to guide us
To our game of hide and come find us.

Wearing every sock we owned,
we left our home
only to stay there in silence.