he’d sent the postcard she said
her head held low in her hands
her knuckles white her eyes red
right before shipping out
to the Middle East he wrote
posted to who knows wherever
Anbar is tell you more later babe gotta go
we’re climbing in our C-17 transport
from Naval Base San Diego
me and my squad taking off over the
ocean the sun reflecting like an invitation
my sarge joked more like hazard lights
to me but what do I know a grunt coming
from nowhere Oklahoma biggest body of water
I’d seen that pond in your grandpa’s back 40
I can see our lighthouse we visited up on the hill
overlooking Point Loma that day you wore
blue gingham the color of your eyes
the color of the Pacific at dawn the day
I asked you for your hand me kneeling
like some damned picture show star
you laughing a smudge of lipstick on your
teeth you my girl then and now and forever
the card arrived almost a year to the day
after he was reported KIA delayed by
bureaucracy postmarked dead letter Wash DC
she kept the postcard on the fridge
pinned like a bug in biology class
and read his last line see you soon hon
the words thumbed and fading

Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life’s dissonance. He has published in CafeLit, Panoplyzine, Crack the Spine, Decadent Review Vermilion, In Parentheses, Wingless Dreamer, Big Bend Literary Magazine, Coffin Bell, and more, plus his chapbooks Once Planed Straight; Viral; and The 13th Floor: Step into Anxiety from Spartan Press.