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With his hand on the Bible, words fell

easily of the shouts and broken windowpanes;

and the words of revolution

don’t quiet early in the morning hours,

they shatter sleeping towns and rattle

doorknobs by way of alarm;

the words are what roused him and ran together

in a confusing streak

like flattened swastikas.

Another cold war frozen in a still frame:

it was Stalin crunching angrily over snow,

it was the Gestapo in a ghetto, it was all the same.

 

 

 

Sarah Gajkowski-Hill lives in Houston with her husband and three children. She has been recently published in The Josephine Quarterly, Clementine Journal, and Amygdala.

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