Lily Marlene

Underneath the lantern, by the barracks gate, I shiver. My feet are cold; so are my hands, and my nose, always a tad bit too long, I can't feel anymore at all. I pull my coat a little tighter against me, but in vain.1

The year is 1940 and the winter is cold and barren.2

Will you come tonight? I have no clue. The walls of the building I am waiting in front of are thick and tonight, I don't even hear yelled orders- maybe you, maybe all of you, have been confined to your barracks again. What do I know?3

I am worried and cold, and I am scared. The war has already started, though some don't believe it. My father says our troops have taken Poland- you say it, the radio says it, it is the truth.4

I am scared. I'm scared of that little man with his silly moustache, that man who calls himself our leader, I am scared of what will happen, more so than opposed to it, even, am I scared. 5

I was never very brave, but then again I never had to. 6

You were, though, and I cried when you joined the army. I did not understand- and sometimes I believe I still don’t, or I never have. 7

My feet remain cold, and the awkward, little hat, perched on top of my head, feels just like that- awkward. It was my mother’s once, but you always liked me wearing it, so here I stand again.8

But I am not twenty anymore. Something inside my head clicks- and as I look down, I notice the wrinkles in my own hands. I cry, though- then I turn around and walk off.9

The year is 1992, and the winter is still cold.10

The winter is still barren.11