Stalingrad ‘42
You bound a book, carefully
affixing each page together
with bones and gave it a
cover of human flesh, the
ink was more vermilion than
the bloodshed of regiments
of women with their infants
still in their arms.
God, even now, still retains
a warring niche in the world
for himself — I knelt down
on one knee and cried.
Extract from:
© Copyright Patrick James 2001
