by David Ackley
Except for the matter of his two wars,
he led, my uncle, what might be called a quiet life,
in a room, between times, at the top of the stairs,
building balsa planes, beautiful small flying things,
listening with one ear to the radio, the murmur of his
father's low voice, under the song of mother and sister's
back and forth, and the gearing down of trucks as they slowed
on Broad Street, which ends near the terminal peace
of Edgewood Cemetery, where now
all but him are gathered beneath the one stone,
while his bones, picked clean by curs and crows,
still whiten in the sun, somewhere near Unsan.
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For Philip Ackley, in memoriam.
http://www.military.com/daily-news/2014/10/13/north-korea-remains-of-us-soldiers-being-moved.html
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Fine *
i loved those balsa planes of childhood...with their rubber band engines
*
Strong.
Thanks, friends.
Beautiful. ***
Moving.
"in a room, between times, at the top of the stairs, / building balsa planes, beautiful small flying things"
Beautiful, evocative image.
*****
Thanks very much, Rachna, Kitty, Bill and James.
Very fine. Especially like image/symbolism of "the gearing down of trucks as they slowed/on Broad Street, which ends near the terminal peace/of Edgewood Cemetery. . . ."
***I read the sad story in the link you posted. The poem is fine without knowing the background, but the two together is powerfully moving, David. What year will it be before we evolve past killing each other in wars, I wonder? Or will the consequences of climate change wipe us out first?