It was about five AM,
about this time I write, in other words.
I heard a sobbing through the walls.
April 10, 2010.
The Polish President feared dead,
I knew enough to Google it.

She knew exactly what had happened.
Katyn Woods, Smolensk.
History repeating itself.

I heard her phone ring,
and the news was true.
She cried for a long time,
and I wondered what to do.

But she knew exactly what had happened,
that no story could cover up,
even the slick one
that said it was an accident,
a tragic coincidence,
even Putin himself rending his garments in grief.

She was crying and I heard her,
till finally she quieted,
into an awful silence,
knowing exactly what had happened.
History repeating itself.
The boldface lie,
the control of
truth.

And they got away with it.
Thieves in the night.