How can I say, in a way that won’t myself defend,
how disappointed I am to this end.
It’s hard not to think—
This is not new. No, there have been others
who may or may not have recovered from this harm
But will I be so charmed?
Imagine for a moment, a minute only,
sixty seconds is all it takes to endure all sadness
all guilt, all fear.
Imagine, in this moment, a battlefield.
The whistle weens into a petite roar,
and rolls into the trenches, bunkers on the hills,
winds over the wounded. The battle begun,
drums derailing all thought, and cannons causing
chaos in the roar of war. Jabbering guns
and callow flies prodding the long dead.
Jump from the trenches, quickly, heated
by the sun and racing heart. Feels like
at any moment, the clouds might close
a cold win might blow, and chilling rain
will fall. Chilling- thats the right word.
But in that moment, no saving grace
on the field. No! Storm the enemy lines,
be angry. Want what they have, want the
intimacy of murdering a brother. And now,
without meaning to, you murder your brother.
Ah how the the familial war broke you.
Recall this day when your pillow is that
rock you rested his head on, and when
only your chilling sweat can calm your body
to believe hell isn’t so close.
Who will forgive you, O Memory, after you are forsaken
to live forever? This is my fondest, most visited
memorial. A love never earned, but somehow lost.
We were not family. Friends?
But perhaps, despite my too quick knife,
you will survive and find me hunkered
in my thoughts, hiding from the skirmish.
Perhaps not all is lost, though my actions were disgusting;
some have recovered—but I doubt I’ll be so lucky.