A MEMORY
A squealing pulley, flapping angels:
Wilbur’s poem recalls to mind
Sixty years ago in Maine
I fastened clothespins on a line.
At my feet a red-capped youngster
At my back the veterans’ barracks,
Sheets wind-whipped as they were hung
Fingers numb and face wind-slapped.
When I turned to find my son
He was nowhere to be found
Playing hide and seek with Mom,
Laughing behind our open door.
There is no price I would not pay
To live that life again today.
Leave a Reply