18 centimeters of wood
up his ass fifty years ago,
and today, I'm afraid of kissing
too long in public, still
yet, I can't recollect a time
when I suffered as much,
for so little, as this man from Alsace,
who hasn't spoken to a German
since fury and fear raped him.

Now, I have seen the pink
triangles sold as gifts
of solidarity with the victims,
and I have looked away, ashamed,
that the very memorial profits
off the Reich's grave markers.

I have heard that introverted
triangles lose their power
when they are pinned and sewn
onto backpacks, t-shirts, lapels.
Still, yet, six known survivors,
thick-skinned, sad, hold life,
and wait for unlikely reparations,
while symbols that marked them
for murder are reclaimed.

11/04/2006

Posted on 11/05/2006
Copyright © 2024 Angela Cotterman