Butler Pennsylvania Poems
After the War, 1945
And the figures on the porches
fathers and sons
who had returned from war
tried to let forgetting happen
as did mothers
who sat in wicker chairs
beside windows
where faded banners hung
with sons as golden stars.
They could only sit there, silent
on glider swings or those on chains,
some seeking calm in rocking chairs
their mothers had used
to rock them to sleep in
while around her
men had spoken of
Verdun, Marne, or Argonne.
Now, if at all, language came
in broken strands
with long silent gaps between,
while those who heard
would search for meanings.
But nothing came.
Only the back and forth of swings
grinding their metallic dirge.
Of a sudden, one of them rose,
shuffled out on warped boards
to stare in battle-fright
at trees that slowly stirred
until someone assured him
they were but friendly pines
standing guard over his home,
his haven, his safe plot.
And the others?
What were they thinking?
Was it triumph or quiet gratitude,
for being where they were,
safe, on a porch that evening
on Penn Street
gazing at the soft dim glow
of a streetlight.
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After the War, 1945
And the figures on the porches
fathers and sons
who had returned from war
tried to let forgetting happen
as did mothers
who sat in wicker chairs
beside windows
where faded banners hung
with sons as golden stars.
They could only sit there, silent
on glider swings or those on chains,
some seeking calm in rocking chairs
their mothers had used
to rock them to sleep in
while around her
men had spoken of
Verdun, Marne, or Argonne.
Now, if at all, language came
in broken strands
with long silent gaps between,
while those who heard
would search for meanings.
But nothing came.
Only the back and forth of swings
grinding their metallic dirge.
Of a sudden, one of them rose,
shuffled out on warped boards
to stare in battle-fright
at trees that slowly stirred
until someone assured him
they were but friendly pines
standing guard over his home,
his haven, his safe plot.
And the others?
What were they thinking?
Was it triumph or quiet gratitude,
for being where they were,
safe, on a porch that evening
on Penn Street
gazing at the soft dim glow
of a streetlight.
Next
Home
Comment