Letter to My Sister
Issue #74
Winter 1997-98
In our father’s schoolteacher’s hand, on the margins of recovered snapshots, nineteen forty-three and forty-four, the World War murderous still, incinerating people in cities, alien, remote, unknown, opposed to us (“And when you’ve killed enough they stop fighting,” said LeMay),...
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.