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Poem

I was five years old;
it was my first encounter with death
there in the funeral parlor.
I did not understand anything about death-
but knew my uncle was inside that box;
my mama’s brother and son of my grandparents.
He had served in World War II;
a pilot in the Air Force, who had completed 
many heroic missions.
Now, he was in that box.

But, then I was just a little girl;
lots of sobbing and moaning- 
family- not wanting that box closed! 
I remember the anguish, hysterics-
my mama, my grandparents- and that box;
they would not let my family open it,
to see him one last time.
There was a flag on it; military men
guarded it closely, and it stayed tightly shut.

The fear of that box has haunted me
all through my life.
My little girl's inner voice always asked,
"What mystery was inside that box?"
"Why wouldn't they open it?"
"Was something really bad in there?"

I got older- and began to think;
perhaps that box was empty, or
what was inside should not be seen?
But still, the feeling remained.
Death and that box- held the missing truth 
about our first casualty of war-
never to be known; our loved one, 
never to be seen again- at least, 
not on this Earth.

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