It's blotchy the past
the silent man
in his uniforms
the child knows his withdrawn presence
but sometimes he would play
with her for short bursts when she was very little
he lived in a world of diesel and flame
oil and water mixed on the destroyer deck
bomb dropped where he stood 5 minutes before
gun turret melted metal and pieces of arm
face blood leg and black smoke
his men faceless except in his memory
daily weekly
submerged in his South Pacific
they were with him through his submarine assignment
in the mouth of the River Kwai bands of broken brothers
breaks the hearts of the survivors
breaking broken like metal shards
until one day
that fragile plank holding those shiny dress
officer shoes broke
And he with that plank and metal splinters
sank too
consumed by the black rolling sea
of his mind now in command
of his hand
on the rope
Author's Note: Poem for my father, Commander Robert E. Leonard, USN Ret. who served in the South Pacific in WWII at a time when PTSD was unknown and silent men and women were numerous and all rejoiced mightily at the fall of fascism in Germany, in Japan and in Italy.
Katherine Leonard is the author of the chapbook Requiem for the Beekeeper (Bottlecap Press 2024). Her poems have been published in Sonora Review, Querencia Press Anthologies, Hole in the Head Review, Speckled Trout Review, FERAL, Allium and Stone Canoe among other journals and anthologies. She is a graduate of the Syracuse YMCA Writer's Voice (formerly Downtown Writers Center) Pro Program in poetry. She has been a chemist, a geologist and an oncology nurse/nurse practitioner. Her writing has been deeply influenced by time spent in New Mexico, Texas and Colorado for space and heat and Vermont and Maine for ice and clarity and by living in Washington, DC for lies and redemption. She is married to the woman with fire in her guitar.
