Pfennig Postcard, Wrong AddressA Poem by Michael R. BurchWe saw their pictures: tortured out of Our imaginations like golems. We could not believe in their frail extremities or their gaunt faces, pallid as Our disbelief. they are not with US now; We have: huddled them into the backroomsofconscience, consigned them to the ovensofsilence, buried them in the mass graves of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol. We have so little left of them, now, to remind US ...
© 2019 Michael R. BurchAuthor's Note
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