it is the smallest thing on earth

smaller than an ant or a louse,
smaller than a fungus,
so small that when it passes by you can't see it,
you can't feel it, because it's the tiniest thing on earth hiding sometimes in a tear, othertimes in an outstretched hand,
sigh,
cry,

we want her for us, but she's always by our side,
with the mastery of the philosopher, it leads us by the nose to where considers,
lures us like a gravedigger disguised in a goddess,
it does not fall on your lap, not even in  your mouth like a riped pear,
because it is the most ordinary thing on earth hidden in your warmth,

we all run after her like after a  bridal veil blown by the wind

I accomplished nothing.
It is an accomplishment to accept that.

They had children and
war planes.  Muster at 0700
Bottles boiled, flannel laundry.
Grandma's coming over.  
Lunch buckets
with a sandwich. No beer.

Blue denim overalls were the fashion
of 1943.  Bandana covered curls.

They were not all Rosie's.

For some dementia was the result
of too much information. They were
brave in their trembling.

Attachment Disorder began
after the war
when the chidren were born.  

Awed at the

thought

that anyone at all
raced through the
day,
propelled
by the memories,  

of the noise of

the bombings.

The dead,

memories.

Toys flung out of cribs.  
They smoked
they tried to read books.

Several times a day the
War was lost, the real
battle, marriage,
and, for the second time,
the front, was drowning,
There was this OnIy stillness
inside.

They dared to muster the
laundry,
to listen to the
broadcasts from
the other room.

Gained
the rank of Rivetter,

they were received with juice,
drank to the dead and to
those who wished they were.

Caroline Shank
2.18.2022



.



.

I’d love you less if you were here
crowding my dorm bed, nibbling me,
rubbing me like sandpaper

I’ve come this far all by myself
I am a stone, leave me alone

Let’s keep it nonchalant
don’t kiss me on the lips
don’t label this a situationship
because then one of us would need to care

Soldier


He was perfect at loving me.
He knew the sweet spot.

He walked with me and
He talked with me.

That's a song.  I forget the rest
But i didn't forget him.

He appeared
like A Grace.

He took

A longtime
going away. .  

He left in the
rain.  

I am invisible now,
by your side.

Tomorrow i will write him a letter
and i will Trust.

Tomorrow i will do a lot of things.
Alone i watch him flailing in
the wheat's crease where it

spreads itself on the road.

Love is a sorrow to my
soul.   He is missed
by the flowers we planted.
His memory blossoms,
The pain of this soldier's
retreat opens every night.

Alone

I wear his medals and

rub the shine

of the

gun.



Caroline Shank