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      December 2, 2010SoapKarina Borowicz

      Even as a child I knew it and my parents
      couldn’t shield me from Sharon Tate and the Olympic
      Games massacre, the hijackings, the war in Lebanon
      not to mention the nuclear bomb and the bodies from Vietnam
      coming off the planes in coffins, some of them hobbling off
      on crutches and one leg. With a magnifying glass I pored over
      Kennedy’s face thinking there must be some omen
      I made a study of Hitler’s hands but even his fingernails
      looked like anyone else’s, he trimmed them now and then
      and washed with a bar of soap like I did, maybe even
      my special way of spinning it around and around in my hands.

      from #33 - Summer 2010

      Karina Borowicz

      “My father taught history, and before I could read I was fascinated by photographs in the books that lined our walls, such as The Bolshevik Revolution and The Last Days of Hitler. By grade school I was reading many of my father’s books and newspapers. The world seemed filled with inexplicable cruelty. In the poem ‘Soap,’ a child grapples with this growing awareness of evil.”