when i was seventeen my boy friends went off to war
i wrote letters and sent rosary beads from the holy land

they sent me stiff,  thin-lipped boot camp pictures
and later colored photos of ageless young men
grinning in front of a camera, arms over shoulders, tugging each other
posing for a group shot

while somewhere in country …

still, war was far from my reality
the children of war far, far from my comprehension
except for words scribbled and deposited
into the mail box with the red flag
from boy friends who continued to write

at home
i went to university but i did not march
and i did not wear black arm bands
perhaps because rudy asked me to keep
his track medals and 45’s

until

he came back

but, maybe i did not march
because my father had written letters to
girlfriends and his mother twenty-seven years earlier

while somewhere in country …

and, he shared with his daughter albums of ageless young men
smiling at the camera, arms over shoulders
pulling each other into a group shot

my boy friends all came home
i asked rudy for a boonie hat
which he never gave me
and he told me to keep his medals and 45’s

it was a yellow box
where the letters kept for many years
never re-read
until
i threw each one away
seventeen was a long, long time ago
these men were far, far from my reality

until

my husband hugs our son
who left
for somewhere in country …

i looked
at this ageless old man
as he sat down and reclined the lazy boy
staring at an awkward boot camp picture on our living room wall
i understood somewhere ever present in his reality
he stands in front of the camera, some buddy’s arm over his shoulder
dragging him into a group shot

and i …
i took out a pencil and some paper
 

Copyright jeanne rené  3.2014