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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Colonel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What you have heard is true. I was in his house. <br>His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His <br>daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the <br>night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol <br>on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on <br>its black cord over the house. On the television <br>was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles <br>were embedded in the walls around the house to <br>scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his <br>hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings <br>like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of <br>lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for <br>calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes, <br>salt, a type of bread. I was asked how I enjoyed <br>the country. There was a brief commercial in <br>Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was <br>some talk of how difficult it had become to govern. <br>The parrot said hello on the terrace. The colonel <br>told it to shut up, and pushed himself from the <br>table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say <br>nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to <br>bring groceries home. He spilled many human ears on <br>the table. They were like dried peach halves. There <br>is no other way to say this. He took one of them in <br>his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a <br>water glass. It came alive there. I am tired of <br>fooling around he said. As for the rights of anyone, <br>tell your people they can go f--- themselves. He <br>swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held <br>the last of his wine in the air. Something for your <br>poetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floor <br>caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on <br>the floor were pressed to the ground. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">May 1978</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Carolyn+Forch%C3%A9">Carolyn Forché</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354062" data-title="The Colonel de Carolyn Forché" data-description="What you have heard is true. I was in his house. 
His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His 
daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the 
night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol 
on the cushion beside him. The moon swung b..."></div>
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