a memorial

a three-legged butterfly alights on my jumper in the sun-drenched graveyard of three thousand souls. Advertisements

A Museum

Their ghosts press in on me, still screaming demanding they be heard. They press with the weight of 1362 feet of steel. They refuse to be ignored I must know their weight and carry it though I know none of them they are not my kinsmen. Yet I strain to listen and bear their weight I…