Daddy's War

byAngeline©

Dear Daddy last night I
watched Saving Private Ryan.
I saw your young man's face,
the fear in trembling fingers,
numb movement forward,
carrying bandages, not a gun.

I can't imagine you crashing
onto Omaha Beach, bobbing
over waves bloody with men
like you, floating, sinking.

Maybe once they knew
how to do the lindy hop.
Maybe once they held
the seeds of daughters
waiting to hear stories,
Damon Runyun read
in a steady goodnight voice
that dipped and nodded,
beckoning sleep.

Do their grandchildren remember them?

A fading face,
a dusty purple heart,
and not a word against
the crawling factory years,
days sung to morning clink,
spoon on coffee mug, and then

goodbye sweetheart, goodbye.

Not a word of friendship
blasted by a single shell,
the scrape of sandy tears,
numb movement forward,
and life beyond 1945
a cakewalk by comparison.

Dreaming.

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