Smyrna burning September
1922
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Whittemore's
Smyrna
Entire cities vanish.
Cries of the murdered.
No one listens. Disturbing residue
from the past shut out,
avoided, by one bountiful
museum admission.
The all-inclusive
columns. Silver goblets.
Smiles of painted saints.
When I breathed in burned
dead people, after the World Trade
Center fell, I knew the air
would never be the same. Any air. We spoke
of it at the time, my friends
and I, as if we were
buying bread. And Edward Whittemore,
I can no longer
look at monuments,
with any trust
or confidence,
that they might know
my name.
~ Sharon Olinka ~
from The Good City
(copyright, Marsh
Hawk Press, 2006)
Visit
Sharon's page on the Marsh Hawk Press website
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