TIMELINE OF LOSS

POETRY SERIES BY JESSICA BOUNDS

Question of Life

You must ask the question:

“Have we gone too far?”

When the children hide beneath desks And memorize the locations of bomb shelters. When they see death in the news, Missiles in the seas. Parents fearing another war, Another death. This time, in their own home.

You must ask the question:

“Can we continue?”

When men die across the ocean And others return with no light to be seen. When people scream and yell, Calling for an end.

Blood flowing through the streets Of cities both far and near.

You must ask the question:

“Why should they die?”

When you see your son board the plane And hope he may return with his life. When you watch as he comes back, Looking whole,

Knowing he is broken. And you cry tears

That will never wash away

The blood already spilled.

The Lucky Type

In 1965, a boy receives a letter. The President has sent for him, Sent for him to go Across the sea, where the men go to die.

But he does not know this

As he boards the plane. He learns this

As he rides the bus, The windows with bars. He asks the reason for such precautions, And learns of the hatred contained in a country. Hatred for war and death.

He does not know how his father mourns, Assuming his son will die.

He does not know he is one of the lucky, Sent away to sit in an office

Because he was of the few that knew how to type, Rather than die in a forest Eight thousand miles from home.

Here and Gone

The man rides the plane, The war is over. He wears his uniform with pride, “You served your country well,” His father would say. “You are a killer,”

The passenger next to him says. The stewardess won’t even look his way. He throws away his uniform, Ridding himself of the filth and shame That always follows war.

He doesn’t speak about it again And his father worries.

He pulls back, never sharing what happened, Never speaking about the ignominy he felt. He tells stories about everything, Except that time, That moment.

He jokes and laughs and loves And hides.

Shying away, never to be seen.