Dead Man Flags or
Mourning The Loss Of Babyhood
This morning I woke up to coffee
and you, a shirt-tugging three today.
We sat on the couch eating different
breakfasts, thinking apart. Wasn't it
just yesterday I held you horizontal,
soft head in the bend of my arm? And
last week when I went to reach for a
glass, you asked about the boo-boo's
that I explained were there from when
you grew inside my tummy.
-Way out to here I showed with a
rounded hand as you ran your fingers
up the shiny marks.
Will they get better? you asked.
Somewhere between Chuckie Cheese and
birthday cake we ended up in a field
of 10,000 dead man flags. You ran
faster than we could walk, pulling
us into your wonder.
Bit lip of country, my secrets,
right here. Mourning the loss
of your babyhood, the fading of
needs. Comprehension.
Of men who in generations from
now may not have anyone that
cares enough to
carry their names on a wall
from state to state.
I can't explain why I brought
you here today or what this
even is. Maybe never.
The meaning of life, death
and anything worth giving
a shit about is coming,
in the breath
of your mouth
to flame of the candles.
Michelle M. Buchanan August 26, 2006
Eldridge Park
Vietnam Memorial
August 26, 2006
