Inge Haupt
Chewing CudArchive for war
The Sacrifice
They knocked on our door.
Bright silver buttons reflecting the shine of their smart leather boots.
A salute,
Ma’am.
We have a proposal for your boy.
We will make him a man,
Give him an education, an income,
A sense of purpose in a …
He paused and scanned the sapphire-bolt sky,
The lazy cream clouds,
The grass bowing eagerly to the wind
Teasing the dandelion seeds from their grasp,
Then thrusting them, tumbling through the air,
Mimicking the flock of swallows
Soaring gracefully on the updrafts.
But he was looking at the broken fence,
The uncut grass,
The rusted car,
And the paint peeling off window-panes that no longer shut fast.
… purposeless existence.
I blushed, we were poor.
This might give him a chance.
They could keep him away from the danger,
Put him at a desk.
He had a head for numbers,
Let him work the code.
Ma’am, please encourage your son to join us in Iraq.
I nodded.
Death and Homecoming
There she stands across the grave,
The dark abyss that bears my son away.
My husband’s eyes turned from my face
For I have sown these seeds of shame.
As mourners begin to drift and disperse,
She approaches.
“You are the mother?”
I nod – again I nod! Why do I not speak?
Pale, thin fingers extend towards me,
“My name is Cassandra.”
I refuse the grasp.
“You are the one my husband went to see?”
She nods.
“I’m surprised you came.”
“Well, so few ask.
And your son, I hear he fought bravely.”
Empty platitudes. Her eyes speak more gravely.
They are full of a deep, dark sadness,
But crystal clear,
I see through the blur of my own tears.
“I’m surprised you came, but why are you here?”
“Your husband wanted me to see what I do.”
I shook my head, “No, this isn’t you.
He was one of many who are free to choose.”
She smiled.
“Do I amuse
you?”
“No, but there was no choice, but the one that leads to this grief
and that is why you let him leave.
Perhaps you can be consoled with the belief
That it was meant to be.”
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Because it all must.
