The Paratrooper Comes Home
This blots the names of battlefields
away. That bloody butchery. There
he is, standing on top
of the old chicken coop. My boy
standing four years old
like he’s on the top of that world
we tried to fix. All of us.
The ones who didn’t come back
to kids.
My boy and I, we’re not afraid.
I’ll hold my arms out
to him, standing on that chicken
coop. I’ll tell him,
“Jump.”
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