Memorial Day 2020 by debgrant
This is the day my father
would recite from memory
the poem about the poppies
growing row on row.
A car accident put him in a hospital
for five years.
He was admitted as a teenager
and left a broken, wiser man.
He spent the years reading.
He memorized poetry.
He worked in the Springfield Armory
because his broken body could not enlist.
His mind remembered the poetry.
His heart recited it to his children.
What he did for the war effort
was to build weapons for the soldiers.
What he did for all who fought and died
was to remember them.
who were now at peace
Beneath the poppies row on row
beyond the war.
What he did was teach his children
the tender act
He taught his children
this day is not about freedom
or flag or beating our chests
for the freedom
to infect our one another with
This is a day to feel
the brokenness in our nation's bones,
to mourn lost souls,
to listen to voices of those who fought
on varied fronts and died
and remember who we are.
Deb Grant, resilient child of God, creative tinker of paper, ink, wood, shiny things, paint and words. The human amusement of a parrot and a dog.
Writer, poet, artist, human, citizen, learner, scruffy, goof.
Word Food by Deb is randomly published. More than weekly, less than daily at the following media sites: