my mother explains strafing mines snipers staring out through the crowd she asks the wind "how do they go on" behind her locked door she cries into her pillow I think nothing's as big as the big empty when there's nothing you can do *** the mothers march to woodlawn cemetery sprays of gladiolas cradled in arms flowers like newborns orange flowers like sunset evening purple for the hero the journey the grave the righteous
craig flaherty
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