Remembrance Day

Not that it is not enough – to remember;
it is too much.

The family
picnics in Normandy
many years after the first Great War
when we remembered
sitting around craters – shell holes – yes, they hadn’t filled them in
but the mud had
turned into grass with

The Menin Gate at
Ypres with its thousands of
names of Canadian dead among
too many others;
Long lists imprinted in the
mind of a
child of seven, how much more
deeply engraved for the

Massed graves in Leningrad;
quiet, say no more.

Remember the Vietnamese woman attempting to
save her
child. They
shot her in the
spine. She died.
but not before living the
shrieking agony of
all past tortures
through the inquisition
up to this
day. You
can’t forget that
woman – embedded in time and in mind.
That was the time which
brought me the question:
“If You’d asked me…”

Who is God if it is not ourselves that must
do Hir work

D. P., 11 November 1991

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