The emptiness that appears in blue glass,
The games we played in my grandmother's yard,
My grandfather who died a thousand times
Before his descendents could know the truth:
Throat cut, gruesome as imagination,
No hero at all... just another man
That the war forgot to send back safely.
My new neighbors knocked on my door today,
They asked to borrow aluminum foil.
I refused while they shifted in their shoes
And I thought, is this what he killed himself for?
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