I watched the caravan of a dead war,
\nwhen I was ten.
\nLong streamers of jeeps and trucks
\npassing on the street.
\nThe pulsation of a heart beat,
\nrumble of violence,
\nlike the moving of a river
\nunder a bridge,
\na storm descending on little Sandusky,
\na speck of dust in mighty America.
\nSeaport on Lake Erie.
\nI sat on a curb with Mickey,
\nmy twin, bored
\nby the brownness of the paint,
\nthe color of the apocalypse.
\nThe end to the greatest carnage
\nin history.<\/p>\n
That our gifted brother was dead
\nbecause of this, was another part
\nof us.
\nOnly later did I understand how
\nuprooted we are.
\nHow damaged our family was.
\nHow radioactive grief can be
\nwith a half life that reaches
\nto the end of our days.
\nFour boys graduated from high school
\nthrown in the fire,
\nthree deaths with the masque
\nof a monstrous regret for their dying.
\nOur star gazer a part of the darkness.<\/p>\n
For Mickey and myself
\nchildhood saved us.
\nInchoate gentleness saved us.
\nInnocence saved us.
\nTime saved us.
\nThe parade lasted days,
\nand was over.
\nWe went to the play park and played.
\nThere were no barbarians
\naround us.
\nNo genocidal soldiers.
\nThe Mikado stayed home.
\nNo Gestapo would hound our family.
\nI remember the puffballs
\nwe loved,
\nand the summer we lived.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I watched the caravan of a dead war, when I was ten. Long streamers of jeeps and trucks passing on the street. The pulsation of…<\/p>\n