Lt. Powell

When I was a kid, I was his Crunchy Girl,

And there was nothing but him and me,

Coffee on the porch.

When I was older, I began to realize I could reach through him,

Touch a World War.

I realized that his own memories would have

Touched veterans of the Civil War.

I did not come empty-handed, though—

Through me, he could touch the future.

What strikes me in the realization that we are pools,

Surfaces that go deep,

Is that his stories never focused on the

Major Events he’d witnessed,

Never on the World War

Or Vietnam

Or integration:

He told me how he struggled to make a living,

Buried the dead,

Fell in love.

Of all the stories he had to share,

Of all the things he had seen,

What he chose to pass to the future

Was the first sight of a long-legged girl

with black curls

in a yellow linen dress.