Memorial Day: The Unmaking of a Sonnet
My story begins with you, your war, your truth, and dreams.
For you, all were irony and hurt, all bitter salt,
whilst I found love, and laughed and sighed and soared and knew
that all my life was you, and all we’d have was mine.
I knew your laws of history, how they moved and stirred, and formed
a child of ardent heart and mind, clawed, yet couth,
a force that aspired to choose the cause of truth, not death,
to pursue the course of light, not the quietening of a breath.
Yet how be free to choose, when life’s but fortune’s die.
And, say, what kindly rule thwarts indifference, cold or cruel.
How lose a love that’s life itself and, parted, still be whole.
For what wounded life can be restored that roots can somehow bind.
What guide or truth that’s sought could find such a law, or doom.
And how should I engage my mind, with your soul still restless, strewn.