PICTURES AT FIVE (For D.K.)
by Bill Cushing
Kneeling on the floor,
thumbing through the albums
around me, I see
the pictures:
at five, on Santa’s knee;
your first sailor’s knot
in Cub Scouts;
tuxedoed for a prom. Then
you joined a different promenade,
one of brown and tattoos.
Now you bunk with
eight others in Ramadi.
Yesterday, Christmas Eve,
you called your mother and
me.
That’s when I heard
of the insurgent
who came at you, pistol bared,
shooting, and you,
with your M16
“not readily available,”
grabbed your knife to spare
your life. These are
not the times
I wanted for my son,
so I went back to these old shots
and remembered those days
to avoid the images I now endure
until, God willing,
May.
The Warrior Heart November 2014 - 25