Before I went to sleep last night, I took the photograph of my Bubbi and her sister from my night-table and looked at it as I often do, searching for the smallest details. The men in fedoras in the background, the clothes, the shoes, the hair, their hands. Do they look like mine? It is late 1930s or early 1940s. A calm before the end of the world. I wonder if the others in the photo survived. I wonder how long after the shot was taken that my grandmother's sister was brutally murdered. How long before my grandmother was tortured to the point that she would never be able to truly live again.
My face is wide like theirs. I feel I have so much of them inside me.
My Aunt wears a sweater with a heart on her chest, pom poms hanging from the neck. Frivolous, it seems to have been made for me.