The love you impart when you walk in your
Careless clothes, your hair undone, your lips
Wrinkled, your feet barely bearing the weight
Of your shapely form covered in an aura of
Unhappiness. The sad love you always impart.
In your steps there is a missing part;
A husband perhaps? A far-fetched dream you
Once had but have no more? A lifeless child
Buried in you? Something I cannot speak of.
A lover sent to the battlefield yesteryear?
When you put them together in a photograph
And look deep into their faces, imagine them
In the trenches, troops of enemies invading
The ground they sleep on, the muddy layer of
War on every surface of the personal belongings
That they have brought with themselves from home,
From the place where they were loved and born,
To this place that will soon be their grave and tomb.
And as their old eyes, the same eyes that looked
Deep into your eyes for the first time, the eyes that
Fell in love with you once you smiled back;
Those eyes, where is their rapture? Those bones
That your stews and cakes helped put flesh on,
Why are they suddenly so visible through their
Torn army uniforms that you will never sew?
And yet, as their old eyes, the same eyes that
Make you leave things unsaid, wake you up
In the middle of the night out of breath,
Gasping, sweating, as if your sleep synchronized
With those eyes and the sad fate they meet every night.
They have taken a part of you and the home they
Shared with you, into the battlefield. You are there.
They never left town, they never came back,
They never existed, they were a delusion
Of the moment; and the first time you met,