The Shoe
The brown shoe, distorted by the woman who had worn itIn happy times and sadbecame my focus on the day I went to BelsenWith my Dad.The massive graves which looked like housesto a little girl of sevenContained so many bodies it was difficultto comprehend….Like looking round a gallery at many famous paintings;In the end they blur into one anotherand you can’t appreciate any of themas much as you would if you were shown only one.And so, when we went in to the hut containingbelongings of the deadI cried for the woman whose foot had distortedthe leather.And now, 59 years later, I still remember that womanand her shoe.