two uniforms I donated to my father’s regimental museum
You may or may not have noticed a recent change in my grav, blava, avator (think that covers them all!). These dapper gentlemen are wearing two of my father’s uniforms I donated to his regimental museum, along with books; papers; buttons; ribbons with miniature medals; and general mitiarimobial. The museum was nice enough to send the curator with two soldiers’ to load the boxes and return with them to the base where the museum is located in 2011.
I recently received a letter from the curator with the above colo(u)r photocopy of the uniforms on display. And, news that the most prestigious prize for an officer training in his field of expertise is now named for my father.
So, I wanted to share my dad (again). He would make some sort of joke of it and continue watching the baseball play-offs. I’d hand out illustrated and informational flyers about it.
Half packed half unpacked
Crinkled, delaminating leather suitcase
Stow the paper airplanes of names
Neatly laid out scraps from my sensible brain
The one that functions
Calligraphizes; studies in pain and beauty
Rational thinking on irrational days
Careful record of one side brain
This half-packed pile of paper, words, feelings
Not too wet with tears to set alight?
Half unpacked full of
Shredded, torn, scribbles
A cacophony of paper
Rumpled, wadded up
Or held together in notebooks
By strings of sameness
Too dangerous, too explosive
For a soul-purge bbq?
Stand back and watch
Loud bangs set to thunderous music
Fireworks of change
Ashes swirling ever skyward
Catching the thermals off the cliff
Follow tracers of smoke and mirrors
Hard against the softened sunlight
Day break, setting sun,
Now neither matters