February 14.

(Allessandro Lupi, Identity, 2013)

I ruined every pair of boots I had that winter, 

taking shortcuts through the snow. 

The night always fell and falling
medic, clear,
too low.

In the Holocaust Museum, I cried 

like you'd said I would. I'd been there before, 

at thirteen and again at twenty-two.

The same reaction:
throwing up when I saw their shoes.