You saw someone without a face
waiting in white
sitting on your hospital cot
against the dried-up paneled wall of our living room.
we were watching Antiques Roadshow
He arrived a few days before
silently walking around the house
room to room
rustling corner cobwebs.
Our conversation lingered
over who he might be
what he may want
why only you could see him.
In stark amber before dawn we crept
a frantic search for food in foxholes
our limbs a shadow dance
illuminated by lamplight you mistook for mortar fire.
your body still a prisoner of war
I crawled my best army crawl
reaching inside pockets of your awareness
somewhere near Pusan you collapsed
gunned down in fiery volley by a malnourished mind.
5 feet 2 inches shouldn’tbe able toairlift a fatherso easily
The mission’s take shared between us:
Rolling Rock ponies plus a dropper of morphine for you
our white-cloaked visitor sole witness.
drifting—you settled into the sofa’s sweet spot.
Janet M. Greenstreet is a writer and photographer living and working in the Philadelphia area. Her work has been published in Frogpond journal, bottle rockets press, Red Flag Poetry, Philly Beer Scene magazine, and on billboards in the Pennsylvania countryside.