Under the unremitting clarity of a
summer sky they met, one last time,
to say goodbye. She, stiff and puckered
as a frozen prune, could barely force a
smile, a thin rictus across the swollen
softness of her face, like the blackened
lightening **** down the pine she stood
beside.

He put his right hand on the trunk,
leaning in to look her in the eyes, his
shaven head bending into shadow, his
newly-minted uniform crinkling into place:
“It’s only a year,” he said; “the war’s almost
over. I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll
have the biggest wedding this town has ever
seen!”

His shining smile beguiled her, as it always
had. Her mouth unfroze, a salty tear prickling
on her tongue: “Don’t you go and get yourself
killed,” she said; “I can’t raise junior on my own.”
She patted her yet unswollen belly with her
right hand, placing her left on his bending face.
“Don’t let Curtis lead you on; he’s crazy. You’ll die
there.”

At that he laughed, a solid, good-natured
sound, as he drew back his head and grabbed
her hand in his. “I’ll be careful,” he said. “We
can Skype every night. I’ll be with you every
day.” He paused, looking up at the cone poised
above his head. “I’ll be able to go to college; I
can work; we’ll live with Mom; you’ll see; it’ll be
fine.”

“We’ll live with MY mom,” she said, smiling
up at him. He laughed again, putting his arms
round her shoulders, pulling her close, bending
down for one last kiss: A cloud obscured the
sun, throwing them in shadow, as he whispered
“I’ll be back. I love you so.” He straightened,
gave a salute, turned precisely, and headed to the
bus.

Under the unremitting clarity of a
summer sky they said goodbye, she—
to have and raise a son, he—to
die.