Eleventh Hour



Boy has an alarm set.
We take our two minutes reflection on the drive to Plymouth.
Rain smudges sky and land together.
On Royal Parade poppies decorate trees.
Every memorial is adorned: bright rings under the dark lists of names, the dense squared stone.
Names, listed; lives, loves, heroics, fear; compressed to this. Too many names to unfold each: too much to endure, too much to forget.



Comments

Geo. said…
It's hard to share a moment of silence in a comment. Thanks for the moving post and opportunity to have done so.
12 November 2013 at 01:51
Lisa Southard said…
A poignant ritual- the photographs are from Boy's travels- his college laid a wreath for a lost Launceston lad. *silent tears. xx
12 November 2013 at 12:51
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