I
stopped by to visit my brother recently,
It
took me awhile to find him.
Rows
of identical stones stand straight in strict formation,
Like
the trained soldiers they represent.
Looking
at the dates, I could not believe,
How
much time had passed - almost three years.
I
tried, but could not hold back the tears.
I
apologized for not being a better sister,
I
should have visited him more often,
Both
before and after he passed on.
The
Veteran’s Cemetery is a beautiful resting place,
Quiet,
in the country, American flag flying high.
In May when we buried him
The grass was green and perfectly trimmed.
In
February, though, the cemetery is brown, and cold, and quiet.
I
climb back in my Jeep to drive away,
Then
I see a familiar sight across a fence. I say,
“Clayton,
there are cows and calves on the hill by you.”
I
smile, thinking of our childhood, milking cows,
Remembering
my brother leaning against the barn wall,
Asleep on his feet after a night out with his friends.
Two of them, Dean and Jim, are buried in the same section as he is.
“Goodbye,”
I say as I drive away.
I
will come back another day to visit my brother.
