Once, there, I saw a soldier, leaning against a barren tree, so casually, and wearing neither blue nor grey, except I knew from the cap and forehead he was in the worst of wars, that he was young and unmalicious, and had never fought in battle before, and it would have made me wonder why I alone could see him, or if it was just because my daughter believes in spirits, and my son had been speaking of ghosts, the way they only appear to the empathetic few, and how they flicker in from the corner of your eye, and disappear the moment you quickly turn your head to verify, because “Do you see things that aren’t there?” is the first question they ask before they tell you that, clinically, you’re crazy, and I know if being crazy means seeing innocent expressions on the faces of the young, on faces before they have had to choose a side or raise a weapon to defend their only given choice, then please, just let me be my crazy self. I’d rather see kindly soldiers than the ugly part of you. Copyright February 28, 2024, Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
