.
.
Learning The Truth About 1948
Now, I have seen your exile
in black-and-white photos,
and I’ve listened
to the memories of your old people.
How their footprints were hurriedly erased,
and the places they were driven from,
renamed.
I never read those stories in the newspaper.
The stories I read had strange holes--
non-sequiturs, missing paragraphs.
Purposely prepared propaganda of
watered-down words and
deliberate digressions.
I watched an actor shout words of defiance
against the “terrorists”
in a 1977 made-for-TV movie.
He had to shout
to drown out that little voice
in the heads of the audience--
the one that asks “why?”
That’s when I knew
that I would have to seek the truth.
Now that I know,
I can see you walking, stumbling
on your journey East.
Tears blur your vision and you
carry bundles
heavy as my guilt.
Bio:
I'm a psychotherapist and occasional poet in New York City. I publish a small ezine called "Eat a Peach: A Poetry Journal."
(author retains copyright)
.
Learning The Truth About 1948
Now, I have seen your exile
in black-and-white photos,
and I’ve listened
to the memories of your old people.
How their footprints were hurriedly erased,
and the places they were driven from,
renamed.
I never read those stories in the newspaper.
The stories I read had strange holes--
non-sequiturs, missing paragraphs.
Purposely prepared propaganda of
watered-down words and
deliberate digressions.
I watched an actor shout words of defiance
against the “terrorists”
in a 1977 made-for-TV movie.
He had to shout
to drown out that little voice
in the heads of the audience--
the one that asks “why?”
That’s when I knew
that I would have to seek the truth.
Now that I know,
I can see you walking, stumbling
on your journey East.
Tears blur your vision and you
carry bundles
heavy as my guilt.
Bio:
I'm a psychotherapist and occasional poet in New York City. I publish a small ezine called "Eat a Peach: A Poetry Journal."
(author retains copyright)
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