Famous Last Words

As I lay in the battlefield

Surrounded by my compatriots

I compare a final evening

To one in the middle

A complicated one

Not simple

Wherein I was tasked

With cooking for a family of six

That was staying with me

They had been displaced

By the war

And the mother and father

Were too shaken up

To make their children a meal

So I offered to step into the kitchen

And whip something up

In the name of compassion

Hours later

The sons and daughters were asleep

And the parents and I

Shared stories

About how things were

Before everything

Stopped and started

All at once

Funny how that memory--

Of a big meal

In a little house

--Would be the one to pop into my head

Two dead men

Were holding hands

On top of me

The battle was ongoing

But you could feel the heat of it

Slowly dissipating

Everything loses its passion eventually

Even warfare

From where I am

The buckshot night

Would look almost romantic

If it weren’t for death

Resting upon my chest

It’s common for a soldier

To soothe themselves

With thoughts

Of what comes after

After the battle

After the war

After the hospital stay

And the physical rehabilitation

And the decoration ceremonies

A return home

A train ride

Sometimes a medal

Sometimes a few

Then quiet

Calm and quiet

Laying in a field

That isn’t beset by aggression

Maybe a sweetheart

Calls your name

Wouldn’t it be nice?

And though you’re not famous

It seems as though

There’s a kind opportunity

To have famous last words

A man nearby may hear you

Your parting shot

And relate your witticism

Or wise philosophy

To soldiers and citizens

For centuries to come

Death brings with it

A sort of eternal know-how

Doesn’t it?

Don’t you feel esteemed

As you lay amidst the chaos?

What’s on your mind?
What are you thinking?
What have you to say?

...And nothing

Nothing comes to you

Just the smell of a chop

And six little mouths

Happily chomping away

At the food

You prepared for them
All those years ago

Years later

You’d run into one of them

Grown now

And you’d learn

That of the six

Only the one standing in front of you

Was still alive

War

Sickness

And bad luck

Had taken the lot of them

Their parents had watched

Each of them go

Then died of custodial grief

The one survivor

Was only one part of a person

Selling apples to stay alive

To passing soldiers

Like yourself

You open your mouth

To see what will arrive

In the form of last words

But all that’s there

Is breath

A single breath

And nothing

Underneath it

Nothing to take with you

As you go