Body On The Battlefield
if a man is loud, his head is quiet.
he yells, to check the echo of a mostly empty skull.
if a man is quiet, he has heard too much noise.
it’s loud in his head, but bless him, he keeps it in there.
my father tells us innocence is a finite resource.
when it goes away, it doesn’t come back, so you protect it.
I think that’s why he likes to walk our dog.
play fetch.
that innocence will always come back.
my father was around when we were growing up.
as long as we lived, he didn’t go anywhere we couldn’t go.
anywhere he couldn’t protect us.
he was there, silent and unmoving
like the sky when you wish to fly a kite.
my father tells us the innocence won’t come back.
my mother tells us how he knows.
she reads us the stenographer’s report of the noises he’s heard.
a woman born of yelling men, my mother tells us
if a man is loud, his head is quiet.
he yells, to check the echo of a mostly empty skull.
if a man is quiet, he has heard too much noise.
it’s loud in his head, but bless him, he keeps it in there.
silent and unmoving,
like the walls of the house that you run inside
when the lightning storm starts,
and you thank god for the walls
and for the wind that wouldn’t carry your kite after all.
