hero (for my father)

My father was decorated for heroism in WWII. Although he didn’t talk much about it, I know that the trauma of war changed him. Over the years he spoke less and less of the war; less about everything in general. And he never spoke of the circumstances that won him the Silver Star. I suspect he felt some shame for being called a hero when so many other heroes didn’t make it back alive. This poem appears in POETSWEST ONLINE
, Volume XVIII, No. 2. Check it out.

hero (for my father)

There was a time when
the words flowed out of you
like a raging river
before you went west

to build the great monuments
before the war in Africa
where unspeakable acts
took away your words

not all at once
but slowly
until you could speak
only through me

relying on my voice
to tell the truth
about what you did
the shame you wore

in the ribbons of a hero
you never were
only a man killing to live
that you might return home
to be reunited
with your humanity