Not Quite Ourselves

In whispers
“Cousin Tommy--  
is passing among us--”
a photo

… at my father's funeral
We, dressed up to honor Dad
Spread the pall along his coffin

“The last thing you can do
for your father”
Mom whispered
to her daughters

There is never a last thing
that women do

...Then to her--
the folded flag
__

Not quite ourselves --
that grief
that echos across decades
Memory is handed round--
that photo
of my Cousin Tommy
__

His eyes gasp!
Grasp!
at me
desperate
in the sudden need for my knowing

that photo--

That this was all....

I would ever know of

you

In that instant
you pass on--

nothing--

but fear

You, paint for war like Mohawks
or something...
not quite yourselves

You guys
must've laughed
like hysterical fools
Half-shaving your heads
Painting each other's faces

And I don't remember
of course
Never met you

Not in my lifetime
_

That War
Not mine!
__

Germany
behind
the lines
of you
long since dead

at 18 years in '45

But I saw the photo!
RIP
the cord!
to slow descent!

Not quite yourself

Your head thrown back
against the terminal velocity
of your life
A war dance

that I had yet to know...
...your face reaches out
across the decades

for one last plea

“Tell them, Lizzy
Tell them 'bout me!”

Not quite myself