Cut the wire on the gates and push them open.
Look around.
Over there, you see the piles of shoes.
Over there, you see the piles of suitcases.
Over there, you see the piles of eyeglasses.
Over there, and there.
So many piles.
Clothes. Hats. Belts.
And bodies. Piles and piles of bodies.
Men. Women.
Children.
There is a fine grey ash over everything.
Run your finger through it.
It’s the ones they burned in the ovens.
Up the smokestacks they went.
Into the air.
And they drifted, and settled down.
On the piles. On the ground. And on everything.