Tuesday, July 12, 2011

August, 1923

There are flies on her face

And arms and

Legs


And although

She is still,

I know


They swarm—


Standing in the doorway

Framed by dilapidation,

She stares somewhere far off

Into dusty plains.


Into a landscape

That I know


Only from pictures

That hang, framed—

Still and silent,

Black-and-white—


You are in the archives,


Little girl.

Tell me how you tore your dress

Tell me where your parents are

Do your feet hurt from the dry ground?


I can see you have no shoes.

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