Stories that fell into the hole
so that no distractions could be made.
A single gunshot wound to the soul.
The images remain unseen, unpaid.
Lives suddenly non-existent;
documents denied by the punch,
but the memories are persistent.
History is always just a hunch.
The belief remains on their faces
but the message must project strength.
All the poor folks kept in their places
and their stories maintained at arm’s length.
Those long-gone faces returned to haunt,
their stories born again to be told.
New deals sold short would finally taunt,
as their futures would slowly unfold.
Inspired by this article by Stephanie at Extracurriculars:
Hole-Punched History
In the FSA archives, photos of The Great Depression are marred by an empty black void, forever obscured by the perfunctory click of a hole-punch.
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:



