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Holodomor,1932-1933

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The golden wheat of the Ukraine
rots in a packed-to-the-brim silo.
Nearby, a Chekist bashes the brain
of a Kulak, as in a sideshow
historians agree to forget.

Tomorrow his gaunt wife will feed
her drumstick children acacia flowers
or sparrows crushed beneath her feet.
The following day she'll beg the powers-

that-be for a stale loaf of bread.
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Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Margaret O Driscoll 21 February 2016

The horrors of Holodomor

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