Forgetting Not an Option

So many dead

Soldiers atop civilians

My crystal set

Squeaked forth

The President spoke

My stare spread in astonishment

In the mirror

Staring back at me

This nine-year-old face wept

Appearing like one of my mother’s

Limp steam-removed postage stamps

I was loved

But the world was awful

Broadcast said men women and children of two wars

Were dragging themselves back home

Mingling and hugging

The hordes of refugees

All tearful they were alive

My hands sought to cover my face

As history licked the edges of its blistered lips

Later…

Life magazine featured the sailor in Times Square

His girlfriend in his lean-over embrace

Trading famished kisses and long-held tears

That day…

With my headset off

The mirror betrayed me again

Reflecting not my face

But a vision of battle’s relentless red and pungent reality

Adulthood needs no mirror of imagination

For wars have proven Man knows not how to stop

Its reflective ricochet of malevolent intent