Binary Opposition
‘Levendy-‘leven
A children’s number
Yet
Everything too grown-up
Was waiting
For the papers on the tables
To be signed to
End
The awful
Too grown-up
Thing
Eleven eleven
Eleven eleven
And then
The terrible ritual
Was done and we could say
The war
Is over
Over there
Over here
The horror
Of a heart of darkness
Goes back under for
A season
Inside the shell of all the mortals
And the devils
Who let the horror out for
Four years
And now
To reckon all such times
And all such people
Knowing also
Innocent
To serve
Knowing by country
And by honor
And that was nearly all
Except
The names that each one
Might have known
To bear inside the pockets
And the packs
Before
Each battle
And on the field
After
Until games
As in the most harrowing
Of contests
Call
In-free
Come to base
The dark is on
Go home
C L Couch
Photo by Georgi Kalaydzhiev on Unsplash
Armistice
A hundred years ago
Europe was ablaze
An awful fire, open-pit
Like southern
Soldier picking
North Africa, western Asia
Cut into with blunt
European, Turkish knives
As if
The lands were
Burnt meat
Now the USA is adding
Fuel to the fire
My grandfather a soldier-stick
Serving with muscle and courage
And fear
(I’m guessing about the fear, for I never
Saw if in him)
Then all elevens,
And it’s over: fire tamped
Ashes rising, setting on new ground
Of anger and reparation
Peace rendered ironic
Buckets of grave dirt
Thrown against
Walls of retribution
Against which
New shadows will rise
C L Couch
(National Geographic Society)
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