MEN IN UPSIDE DOWN TEST TUBES

A G.I. in a Korean prison cave. Rows of babies in a box. My hand holding a small child’s face; it is oval shaped like an egg. Circles of gold. Fingers on tuba keys. A mother and child encircled by a whip’s lash, like they are slaves. Men in a row contained in upside down test tubes.

I think about the story about a crowd of prisoners in a small cell straining to get a glimpse of sunlight at noon through a small, barred, high up window. They did not realize that the door behind them was open and they could leave the cell at will. Only they waited every day for the little bit of sunshine through the window.

My Father let me put gold circles with a sponge on the lower level of his study wall.