Maybe he never existed. Maybe this is all he is. Cobbled prop in a worker’s cap
and prisoner’s shirt. Face without features. Puppet arm lifting a cup to an absent
mouth. Two crossed triangles on a chest where a heart might flutter. Before, and
after. Silence speaks where a tongue may not. Strangle it out. What happened. Boy
and his father. Boy rolled in a blanket, pressed to a wall. On the far side, the other
children are screaming. Boy slung over his father’s shoulder. Boy as a smuggled
sack of potatoes. One child and one child and one child and one. Giving his ears away.
