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poem about Ethel Rosenburg for SLAM Round 6 |
| Hidden in paranoid arteries, their blood runs red- but it is mine that oozes down a metal screen, accused of being a sinister shade of crimson. I am condemned when the nation preys for sacrifice, my husband not enough to satiate the righteous eagle. Because I loved, and believed in a foreign ideal, they try to crush my conscience with the dirt from graves of fifty thousand. Yet my pride stands tall, strapped against the trunk of treason. My death's desire, as they light the fire with a switch, is to hear them choke on the fumes of murder. |