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.