What I knew, at least what you told me
while glancing your eyes across the horizon,
a small plane ascending over the hill,
and you’d duck your head
while driving the mail to the post office.
We had our ritual Sunday nights,
nothing unusual, just a drive to drop off your
The part that I loved though was when you would
tell me about Saipan … that peaceful story.
I was only a kid then, so I didn’t know about war.
I hadn’t understood the many nights your cold body
withstood the temperatures
while you and your buddies protected our soil.
I hadn’t known anything about war
because you shared stories of peace,
and camaraderie in a deep forest,
never knowing when you might face
a world no one understood, not even your own.
But now today as we traveled down a country road,
and a small twin engine slid across the sky,
I watched your head duck with eyes looking askance,
I knew then what I’ve only begun to know now.