visiting Smithsonian museums with my sister


by the third floor

the weight of history

had become too much

that you wanted to

release it to the sky


by the fourth

my sister still hadn’t

enough of rolling

in its ashes

hearing the moans


by the fifth there

was nothing to see

but the blue cinder terror


so we all took the elevator

to the basement to reset

eat lunch among the relics

and walk the street casually

to the next next-door Holocaust