I’ve been there.  I’ve seen.  I don’t keep away.  It’s

a place like any other place, to me.  Every time

I go there, following the others over the crunch of

feet on the path, I see even young people weeping,

they put down their flowers and sometimes sheets of paper

with what looks like lines of poems written there.  Now

I do what the others do.  It’s the way to

be safe, perfectly safe.  Today I bought a cheap bunch

of red roses held by an elastic band wound tight

and laid it there, before the fountain, behind the railing.

___________________________________________

Paraphrases from the short story “Homage” by Nadine Gordimer.

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