The pogrom (raid)

The slaughter began on a Saturday worse than the others.
We hid under the shadows of our silence.
Only our eyelids released a glance:
It was like a single dream
That a thousand eyes watched.
I whispered: I remember, mother.
Memories are congenital.
I have never exorcized this gaze.

Background: peeping at the outer world through the cracks of the doors. My mother narrates it, years later, to me.