Two Bowls Connor Williams He’d prepare two bowls of cereal before he went to bed, Ready for the morning after. One for himself and one for his queen, A diamond couple, 60 years spent together. He lived through two great wars, fighting in one, And was captured here for a time That he cared not to talk of. There were dreams of home after the war’s end, The fields of his fatherland hailing a return. But he would stay, his queen giving him reason, And that cereal on the side greeting him each morning. Yet bullets, bombs and hospital drips are not even close To the drowning anchor of time. It latches on to every victim, like a thriving bird of prey, From him it took one queen And one bowl away. He would still pour that solitary bowl And I’d watch him as I grew. I never quite understood the preparation he took; Only as I aged and his eyes began to fade, Did I see the surety of awakening it gave for the morning. Without his queen, He still had his prince, who admired him more Than he could have expressed. I should have released the love that I felt, The pride and cherishment inside. I should have used my time for him, Before his bleakest day arrived. I found two bowls side by side, Old and cracked but still A pair, Empty. And my hero, Still, in his bed.
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