Before The End Of Feelings

 

A Moment

 

 

The field where my brother died–

I’ve walked there since.

Weeds and grasses, some chicory

stalks; no trace of the scene

I can still see: a father

and his sons bent above a deer they’d shot,

then screams and shouts.

 

Always I arrive too late

to take the rifle

from the boy I was,

too late to warn him

of what he can’t imagine:

how quickly people vanish;

how one moment you’re standing

shoulder to shoulder,

the next you’re alone in a field.

–Gregory Orr

 

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