Visiting Arlington, I watch the lifting of
Early morning mist beyond my father's marker,
That too-small testament to deeds in China, Burma, India
amid jungle, on mountaintop, more than 60 years ago;
Exposed on reverse the names of two of nine children;
to left and right, unclaimed spaces
Reserved for the unnamed of his time and day.
Answers want for an audience here.
Next-of-kin push back against their loss,
Softening as silence
Deepens on that hillside where our father rests.
A son's own battle, this one with cancer,
Yields only questions.
Copyright 2008-2009 Maureen E. Doallas. All Rights Reserved.