In remembrance of John McKnight
A decaying envelope
and aging parchment
held history in bolded words
and blanks, filled
with a typewritten name
long since evaporated tears
faintly remain imprinted
trailing an inky fate
a hundred and five years old
and the grief of a mother
still pulses from the page
as if gothic font caused
a war to lose it’s purpose
….
My grandfather showed me the death certificate of his uncle sent from Washington, DC to his (my grandfather’s) grandparents after their son’s death in France during WWI.