That Makes Two

That makes two now that have died

From my class, in this war, (warriors, they were)

I told her, on the other end

Of the phone; my sister called while I was driving, working, thinking

About the heat of the day and when will it end?

My aching wrists and tired feet -

I was caught up - wishing my life away

Until what she said tapped the glass, shattered my self pity;

It stopped me still when I heard

His name over the noise

Of traffic and thoughts and my windows down.

It had been too long since last I heard that name, and it was wrong

To be hearing it now, could mean only the worst:

She went on - Afghanistan, yesterday...

--

And then I saw his face: first, it was his smile, how I remember it,

All joy and pale and freckles,

And then it was another way of seeing him:

His soldiering salute and serious eyes, lit with bright fluorescents,

In print on high gloss; I paused

To study that look of sternness,

Of serenity, and I could say nothing else to my sister on the phone;

I excused myself

To cry, to feel the rock and sway

Of the truck beneath me, my fragile body its captive, to cry

From my eyes and to sweat tears from my arms and neck,

My body-all a duct for this surge that flashed through me;

I felt waves of it, and I tried to remember, in order to cherish,

His smiling face,

The face I saw when first she said his name

And the one, someday, I will love to see,

But now it is that other look,

Of serenity, of the soldier; I look backward to see his salute,

And I said to my sister,

That makes two, two soldiers, two men,

But we were only boys then,

When we were smiling