THE AIR SO STILL

MEMORIAL DAY

THE AIR SO STILL

The air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning

He could see
the white clapboard house
as clearly as if he were standing there,
the gate on the wooden fence
hanging open
on broken hinges

the empty mailbox

where just minutes ago
a letter was placed by a postman
with thin grey eyes

and removed
by a woman
with pale white hands
that trembled
as they opened
the envelope

"He's coming home,"
she whispered from lips
grown white around the edges,
"In nineteen days. He's leaving Afghanistan."

The air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning

He thought of her
as the wound in his chest
grew red and hot
with his own blood

the air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning

He thought of her
and the wound felt like a great chasm
opening into nothing

the air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning

He saw her waiting
her lips white around the edges
yearning to hold his warm body
full of life and scent and strength

the air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning

And the blood pouring from the wound
grew hotter
And his body grew colder
And the great chasm
of the wound
sucked his life into itself

the air so still
as if every molecule
had stopped spinning