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Jakob

Stories told,
over and
over again.
Voices are tinny and drained out,
quiet but powerful.
Now I have heard,
so I will tell.

I see a pile of filthy black shoes
the smell of leather is everywhere.
One is pink.
Now I have smelled,
so I will tell.

The beds I feel,
I will touch forever.
Now I have felt,
so I will tell

The pajamas I see
could have been his,
I wonder as I clutch his passport in my hand;
a precious item to Jakob in a time of despair
I have seen,
so I will remember,
and I will tell




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