This writing is publishe in the
May 2010 issue
(v208) of
cc&d
magazine.
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Dark Matter
Ralph Hamilton
Hard as a peach pit
they found it in the burned-out bunker
with forensic spectrometers—
you can imagine the hubbub—
Hitler’s lone ball.
Now we know he was once just a boy!
And though testosterone’s
surely poison, the little nut
can hardly be blamed—almost ascetic,
young Adolf grew zealous
in other ways, slathering his
grupfbrot
with gall. Naturally, some want it
voided or restowed in a vault.
Some, set on display
like Galileo’s purloined fingers & tooth.
Connoisseurs, of course, wish to buy it
at auction, like Queen Victoria’s
monogrammed bloomers
sold at $9,000 Canadian (for purposes
undisclosed). Surely several will worry
where the other one went,
if cryogenic in Buenos Aires or Cairo,
Illinois, a twin awaits the proper nursery
to rebloom? But only a few
dare roll it in their palms
knowing it’s true—dull & scorched, so human
once—bear a weight
that admits no light, concedes no comfort,
the inexplicable mass
of the missing—be reminded
how ordinary he was,
& not—how not unlike others
with sight so pure they’d spike our eyes
to help us see—most of them dead,
a few now living, & (God help us)
some not yet born.
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