December 1943 from Abandoned by Defeater

I can’t remember. Each time it slips right through my fingers. The eyes and faces of my brothers that never made it back home to their mothers. All I remember of 1943 December is Sullivan and I behind the line. We gathered the flock to hold a mass with the father and the smoke led the way back to death and flames, my disbelief in what laid before me. Bombed out with no warning, no hope, no hands to hold, no hands to pray for me. And I remember the prayers my mother’s mother taught her. And though I am no believer, I would be dead with my fellow men if not for the preacher. “If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord for my soul to take.” No hands to fold, no hands to pray.

• Rock
• Boston