Lisa Grunberger
The Evidence of Doors begs for a footnote. Hitler walked through doors kissed no mezuzahs the record shows, ate vegetables and fruit outdoors on a long picnic table that could have ended up a door but was fated to be a long table around which SS soldiers ate wiener schnitzel chugged Gewürztraminer, bit into crisp apples. The table could have been the door the door could have been the tree from where Hitler’s apple fell. He liked his apples tart. Devoured sweets late into the night. Other men smoked pipes. When Eva Braun walked through the door heads like trees to spring turned. Leni Riefenstahl put down her camera to stare at Eva’s body the way a new prisoner stares at his cell door, the way a watchmaker stares into the gears of a watch. Maybe doors serve no evidence at all. Maybe doors shoot blanks. Hitler never entered Eva. Eva entered Hitler a thousand times. Stars flickered. Fruit fell off trees. Polish sausage ate the sunlight.
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