War Never Ends
Night after night I scoop up fish in the shower. I carry them to safety and they swim out of my grown-up hands. In the morning it’s still 1967 with the wretched work of war’s dragons and my father’s black body bag, forsaken imprints of my mother’s red lipstick, a famine in her kitchen with a vinyl pocketbook of failure come down through the years. Night after night I want to show her the saved fish. Instead, I watch men on the sidelines count the fish, string them up, brag about the size and weight, then throw their bones away.
Photo credit: Sid Nair
This is beautiful, haunting and sad.
What a lyrical testimony to the fact that war really doesn’t ever end but trickles into dreams and down generations. Such an evocative, sad, truthful piece.
Amazing blog and very interesting stuff you got here! I definitely learned a lot from reading through some of your earlier posts as well and decided to drop a comment on this one!
Gail, I never had the gift of writing poems or books. But I enjoy reading all that you have written. Love, your Cousin Joyce
So nice,Gail!