by Tim Buckman, inspired by the poems in Carol Ann Duffy's collection "The World's Wife", written from the perspective of the wives of some of the most famous and infamous men in history:
I'm sure they'll grieve. I might even shed tears
myself. The red band ripped, from my life
like a splinter, gnawing, biting at my heart
'till it comes free from flesh. And I call his name
over again. Dear Wolfy.
Life. Bereft of his soul, it cowers in place,
stuck in the mud and sinking to obscurity.
He was an unknown till he became Adolf Hitler,
A man travelling in time, now traversing him.
They drew him like poison from a wound,
An isolating wave of red, on red. We are
the same after all?
I feel a hate in my mind where he has left me,
A contamination on my life.
At Nuremburg he stole my heart,
And gave it to his Panzerkrieg,
they raised their hands to worship him,
But instead became a slave to him
like me. Stuck in the Fatherland.
As we fall from grace I notice
His rotten eyes fill up my world, as if they're all to see,
But closer yet he comes, maybe to comfort me.
my world is gone for me, he lingers.
Lonely in history, both I, and he
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