Cemeteries of Brody

Tombstones,

Tall like men, women, children, standing n the snow, raised, tilted, sleeping, silent, covered in moss, lichen and indifference, surrounded by the forest, warehouses, buildings in construction that graze the soil.

Tombstones,

Cold like corpses, regrouped on the plains, the remains of families, the remains of villages, of towns, of faces, crumbs of memory and forgotten history, drawn up to face the madness of men, to face denial, to face fear.

Tombstones,

tearing up the cold, like a hopeless song, murmuring to those who listen:

“We lived here.”

Tombstones,

within an inch of falling.

Far from the dogs crying.

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