by Kip Wilson
Some people look
at me, smile, think
She’s just a girl, but
Vati raised us to be
politically minded,
after all, and I’m not
about to forget
how I was
brought
up.
FATHERS AND SONS
Letter to Fritz, September 1940
Dear Fritz,
I’m happy to share
what I think
about the German Volk.
A soldier’s oath
to his Volk
to his Führer
is like the unconditional
love of a son to his family.
Even if a father hurts someone,
his son backs him up.
But he shouldn’t.
Justice
is more important
than family,
than Volk,
than Führer.
Justice
is more important
than anything.
CHANGES
Away from home for
practice teaching—
a stint I hope will fulfill
my labor service requirement
for the Reich
so I can finally move
on to the university—
and everything feels
wrong.
This might be
a step closer to a future
that matters, but
I can’t see how life
can go on like this at all,
as though nothing
around us has
changed in the slightest.
I carry out my duties, focusing
on the children here, but when
night falls, I dive
deep into my books,
my writing paper,
the arrival of the day’s post.
Letters from my family slip
me snippets of home, while
mine to Hans and Fritz place
me in their back pockets
as they slice
their way west.
But I already know
nothing will ever
be the same again.
LOVE LETTER
Fritz’s letter from Calais is
different from
his regular letters.
Today I’m writing the hardest letter
I’ve ever written you.
My throat tightens
as I read on to find lines
I never expected
(though I should have,
since I was the one who wanted
the both of us to fly free).
Still, I don’t need to hear
about her big, dark eyes
or her sad, dreamy smile.
I don’t need to hear
how Fritz says he
can’t
escape
me
even as he lies
in another’s arms.
I don’t need him to apologize
for hurting me.
We’ve both made mistakes,
both tired of me pushing
him away as often as I draw him near.
I know I’m difficult, but with the world
the way it is, someone has
to be difficult.
I’ll always love
Fritz, but I love
me more.
SOLITUDE
Letter to Fritz, October 1940
Dear Fritz,
Even when surrounded by
the most kindred
spirits, I sometimes crave
solitude.
Especially now, with so much
darkness closing in around us, being
alone is as important to me as
food and drink.
I hope you find
good friends
wherever
you go, but
I hope you can brave
it alone, too.
THE END
FEBRUARY 18, 1943
Torture
Herr Mohr studies me
across the desk, as though
the information I’ve been trying
so valiantly to conceal sits
printed across my face
or as though
he can read
my apprehension
of what’s yet to come.
Boom-boom,
boom-boom.
Is something bothering you,
Fräulein Scholl?
I decide to admit
the latter.
I’ve heard the Gestapo tortures
the accused for confessions.
Herr Mohr chuckles. You’re the victim
of misinformation. We don’t do that.
My eyes narrow. I don’t know what
to believe, but if his words are
true, I deserve
proof that the same holds
true for Hans.
I’m worried about my brother.
I’d like to see him.
If that would satisfy you. He gets to his feet, leaves
the room, opens the door beyond.
In a room exactly like
mine, Hans turns
his head to meet my gaze and
the courage he sends
me matches the courage I send
him and relief floods
me when I realize
that in spite of the
evidence they gathered
at Hans’s feet,
that in spite of my own
foolish actions,
we still have
a chance
to survive this.
INNOCENT
As abruptly as the door opened,
it closes once more, snuffing
out all light and air and
hope, leaving
Hans and me on
our own once again.
Stay alert,
I warn myself, be careful,
but it seems
Herr Mohr believes
my lies so far.
When he asks
if I touched
any of the leaflets scattered
around the halls,
I’m relieved to tell the truth.
When I saw a stack
of those leaflets
on the balustrade,
I couldn’t help myself,
I couldn’t stop myself.
I gave them a shove toward
the atrium below, but I realize now
it was a stupid thing to do.
I bow my head,
clasp my hands,
a picture of innocence.
I regret it but
can’t change it.
Herr Mohr watches,
paces, stops, nods.
I understand, Fräulein Scholl.
We’ve all done things we regret.
Yet his questions
continue.
BEFORE
1941
Duty
The boys have
their duty as soldiers, but
my duties continue, too—no
matter how much I’d rather
not
serve this Reich.
My attempt to replace
Reichsarbeitsdienst with
teacher training fails, and
the only way to study
at the university
is to give up
six months of my
life to the Führer.
KRAUCHENWIES
Reichsarbeitsdienst
at Krauchenwies labor
camp means
bone-chilling cold,
armies of mice scampering
across the floor,
endless days of
mindless tasks:
6:00 a.m. wake-up
calisthenics
flag raising
National Socialist son
gs
ideology lessons
work, work, work,
nothing
that requires
a brain.
At night: locked
up in the barracks
with ten other
girls
chattering and giggling
like a flock of southbound
geese while I’m trying
to read and all
I want to do
is break
out of here toward
somewhere
I can make
a difference.
FEELINGS
Letter to Fritz, February 1941
Dear Fritz,
In spite of
everything, I know
I can always count
on you.
We don’t need
promises
exclusivity
a sure future.
Your words, your
love from afar make
me fonder
of you
than ever.
TRAPPED
Bad as it is to
be a cog in this
terrible machine,
the worst comes
today,
when we learn
we’re to have
six
more
months
in this straitjacket.
I’ll never
get out of here
never
make a difference
never
escape.
The war booms
on while I sit
here helpless, unable
to do anything to
stop it.
BIRTHDAY
I turn twenty at
Krauchenwies, surrounded
not by family and friends
but the same
group of girls who
shatter
my reading time with
their incessant interruptions
every
night.
I don’t even try
to celebrate.
THIS IS LOVE
Fritz marches east, part of
the next big invasion—
the next big thundering
storm cloud—
his words jumping
off the page.
I can almost feel
the scratchy wool
of his uniform
as though he’s pressing
me to his chest, but
it suffocates
me as much as it comforts
me.
Though I can’t imagine
the dangers people face
on all sides of this war daily,
Fritz’s letter ignores
the horror, focuses on
me, responding to
my news of extended labor service.
His words empower
me as only he can:
You must follow
your heart
your mind
your conscience
or you won’t be
Sophie any longer.
In spite of everything that’s come
between us,
no one
knows me
so well.
STUDENT LIFE
Letter from Hans, May 1941
Dear Sophie,
A bit of respite,
a bit of freedom
here at the university
after such a long wait.
Despite the constant drills
in the student company,
most of my time here is pleasant,
with lectures into the evenings,
excursions to the mountains,
glowing under the bright, blinding sun,
especially now
that it’s truly spring.
Just think of how splendid it’ll be
when you’re finally here, too!
SERMON BY BISHOP AUGUST VON GALEN
Back at home from
labor service, and Hans is
here for a few
days too, in between his
l o n g stretches
of time at
the university and
the front.
My big brother doesn’t say
a word as he hands
me a letter, a printed
sermon
by a bishop:
I have been informed
that hospitals in Berlin are preparing
lists of inmates who are classified
as unproductive members
of the national community
and that these people are to be removed
from these establishments and killed.
German men and women!
Article 211 of the German Penal Code
is still in force, in these terms:
“Whoever kills a man with deliberate intent
is guilty of murder
and punishable with death.”
LEAFLETS
The words steal
the breath
from my
lungs, trapping
the air in
my throat.
It’s just
like Mutti’s
friend said:
innocent people,
murdered.
But.
A response.
A condemnation.
This bishop, standing
up in the
face of
tyranny!
Someone has typed
up his sermon, duplicated it, sent
it to households across Germany.
A leaflet.
It’s brilliant.
Leaflets like this can reach
individuals with a message
for the masses, can spread
the truth, can show
the world what’s happening.
Leaflets like this might make
people act.
POLICE ORDER OF THE IDENTIFICATION OF JEWS
September 1941
Jews six years and older
are forbidden to appear
in public without
displaying a Jewish star.
The Jewish star should
consist of a yellow
Star of David on a black
background with the
inscription Jude.
It should be fixed
over the left breast
of all clothing.
This order goes into
effect in 14 days.
On behalf of the Interior Minister
Reinhard Heydrich
DISAPPEARANCES
Soon after Jews
are ordered
to wear stars, new
rumors circulate.
Jews from Ulm,
deported—
first to Stuttgart
then out of Germany
entirely.
Where
are
they
being
sent?
WINTER RELIEF
It’s that time of year again:
the collection drive for
wool
furs
warm socks
to send to the soldiers at the front.
But my family and I are through
with this regime, through
with its Führer, through
with these attacks on innocent
countries, innocent people.
This
war
must
stop.
We’ll give
nothing.
We’ll do
nothing that will
help prolong
the war,
I tell Fritz.
He valiantly tries
to explain why help is
needed but soon recognizes
the futility of his efforts.
A P
RAYER
Once again in the night,
worry and
despair and
hopelessness worm
their way through me, the walls
once again pressing
close, and
all I can do is pray
for the oppressed
wherever they might be
for my brothers
that they survive this war
for my faraway friends
whose letters do
nothing to bring
us closer
for Fritz
whom I hope to come to love,
hard as it is some days
for my own soul
desperate, hungering
beyond measure, finding
satisfaction only in nature:
the sky
the stars
the silent earth.
1942
Happy New Year
A handful of snowy days
in the mountains
with Hans
his girlfriend Traute
our big sister Inge
some other friends—
hoping the arrival of
1942 will bring
with it the change we all
so badly desire.
We ski, drink tea, sit
around the stove by candlelight,
our discussion focused
on these turbulent times.
We share
intellectual awakening,
but we’re all too mired
in our own despair to know
