Published January 8, 2022 by Gudrun

A Poem

January 6, 2022

Walking towards winter sun, facing

the old growth, oak forest,

I meditate; a memory arises

of that man in a shirt with the name

of a place the Gestapo had decided

to send my grandfather so long ago.

Shocked that this fresh new year should display

such a shirt once more, along with violence and hate.

My shoes are soaked with tears

glistening in the grass.

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