“In our weariness, tears cannot find their way out of us” ~ Andy Jackson I am flesh wrapped around all things unwept, I am salt water, brim-filled. No weary gulls any longer
land on me to rest, even briefly. This reservoir has no outlet, no closing shore. An eternal twilight
greys the waves, awaiting . . . → Read More: Poetry by Ian McBryde
Under Pink Triangles
Spent, one of the senior Kapos withdraws from the prisoner’s mouth, and fills the young man’s hand with crusts of bread.
In the unlit latrine, after the Kapo leaves, the prisoner washes out his mouth, spits repeatedly, then eats the dry and brittle husks.
The others dream fitfully on their . . . → Read More: Three Poems by Ian McBryde