At The War Memorial

Applause rarely applies in remembrance;

without warning, following whispered request,

he read the poem - a man of maybe forty.

Assuming nervous, we raised our eyes

towards the faltering voice;

with deep breaths, pregnant with pause,

he sobbed onwards through the lines,

cords straining to sound words,

seconds of steel propelling him to complete a phrase,

as images tore at his grief.

Thus we joined our hands

in common spontaneous admiration,

as he had made real the remembrance

for which we had come together

Teardrops from above had fallen

that very moment our silence began.

I imagined poppy petals,

and Dad’s father

passing far away in time and place.

Then a blackbird on nearby bough

broke through with plaintiff song.