I do not cry loud for battle
having given my hand already
having held my dying kin
having rested under this willow
as the breeze swayed its lashes
smooth across my breast
having gazed into the open
starlit sky with the wonder
of many years yet to travel
No, I do not cry loud
but fill my days with labor
enough to wash my heart clean
fill my hours with listening
and pulling back, each in turn
fill my moments with remorse,
anger, gratitude, urgings
fill my weeks and years
revealing a future bit by bit
coaxed out in slow muddles
I do not cry loud, I do not cry
most of all for battle
for younger years, impatient chance
bold beginnings, heroic endings
ambulances overflowing —
yes, ruin teaches most of all
of emptied shoes shoved
into untidy piles, unnoticed —
I will not cry loud, no
———————–
Another for my father for Veteran’s Day.
4 responses to “I do not cry loud for battle”
A really beautiful tribute of understanding. The way you shift the meanings of “cry”–wonderful. That picture of resting under the willow will stick with me.
Thanks. This felt very uncomfortable to write — I really struggle always against stridency — but it was also insisting on coming out. It needs some more playing, but I cannot see solutions right yet. Maybe they will come. Or not. Thanks for your unending patience!!
You always make me feel AND think. No patience required. 🙂 I get what you’re saying about struggling against stridency. Some topics are so emotional that they just want to burst.
Thanks for the encouragement!