Memorial Day

When they brought my father out
of Germany, he weighed ninety-two
pounds.
            Was he still
a boy then? Was he kind?

    They could leave the camp
but had nowhere to go.
    A brass key to a church, where
sometimes there was food. Then
    back through the foreign woods.

                         Who might he have been?
If not for this? Did he dream, ever,
of people burning beneath his plane?
                         Does it matter?
    For years his medals rested

in a velvet box, passed from wife to wife.
   What counts against him?
    What weighs in his favor?
                         Who has the right
to measure?

I struggled for some time about what to post today, and finally decided on this somewhat revised version of a NaPoWriMo piece.

Will we ever have no need for this day?

Comments

[Patia]

Sad and lovely.

[Ken]

I like the new images. The velvet box, passed from wife to wife is very powerful.

I spent part of the day over in East Helena chatting with Vets from varous wars. 35 years ago who'd of thought that I'd be chatting with a man who served in our parents war. Who'd have thought that I'd be praying for friends and the sons of friends off fighting in another war.

[SB]

I seem to remember that we used to speak at churches (can this be so?) about youth, the anti-war movement, hippies, and so on.

How in the world did I get involved with that? Was that because of you?

[Ken]

Yes, we tried to change the world. We thought we could change the world. And, even if the world changed us, we still keep some of that faith.

[Dick]

Mournful & contemplative - a fine poem.