I kneel, touch a poppy wired to a wreath,
Strike a match to read a letter, typed,
Unsigned, taped to the stem of the flower:
"I can't forgive you for going but
I won't forget I was your wife who let you."

Lottery number three hundred and twelve
The year they took just the first fifty-two,
I never had to choose to go, or anything else;
That wall of names reproaches understanding.

Christopher Guerin
Born 1953
Fort Wayne, IN