Salt to the Sea

Was there a bird for the souls of people like me?

He wanted to tell her things.
She hoped he would tell her things.
But he would not.

She is salt to the sea.

War had bled color from everything, leaving nothing but a storm of gray.

He opened his eyes and whispered to me. “Kind of incredible. She is you, she is your mother, your father, your country.” He kissed her head and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“She is Poland.”

My arms lifted and reached for the child

I knew Mama would say them if she could. But Joana spoke them, slowly and deliberately, clutching my hands between hers.

“Emilia, I am so very sorry.”

My chin began to tremble. My throat tightened. I nodded and warm tears spilled down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, squeezing my hands.

“Me too,” I whispered.

So instead of creating art or collecting it, Hitler stole it. Large albums with photos and lists of the items he targeted for his museum were assembled. Two such albums had been
delivered to Dr. Lange. Some of the art listed was in private homes, owned by Jewish families. Other pieces, like the Julian Falat painting, were in museums. The Czartoryski Museum in Kraków had been pillaged. Masterpieces by da Vinci, Rembrandt, and Raphael now hung in the private apartments of Nazi officials

Hitler might lose the war, but he wouldn’t be willing to surrender all the art he had stolen. Especially not the Amber Room

As the philosophers say, ‘Life is short,
but art is long.’

I looked down at her lips