Poems by Christina Sharik
Remains
I hate the sound of
the word in my ears,
I hate the meaning,
the connotation
of pain and tears -
the word?
"Remains".
Bits of bone
and shreds of cloth,
perhaps a piece
of plane -
physical remnants
of someone's life
"Beloved"
was his name.
Someone brave
who died among
the chaos and
the flames -
someone young
and someone strong;
He is not
"Remains".
He lives on
in someone's heart,
though they've been
long apart -
as real today as
yesterday
though he slumbers
far away -
He smiles out of
yearbooks
and grins from
picture frames -
oh, he is so much
more to her
than a simple word
Christina Sharik 3/98 _____________________________________________________________________________________
"Remains".
Memorial Day 1998 (or any day)
(A mother to a an MIA son)
Dear Son:
It's thirty years -
Ten Thousand Nine Hundred
and Fifty Days
give or take a few,
since Dad and I
"lost" you.
On this Memorial Day
I wonder, yet again,
If you still walk this earth
with living men.
I sometimes feel as if
I'm going mad,
I'm always very close to sad.
The heart inside my chest
is raw and sore
the aftermath
of your part in the War.
You are still
"missing"
but I have never let
you go.
Christina Sharik
5/98_____________________________________________________________________________________
Click on POW graphic to return to the June issue
My son, dear one -
I love you so.
Mom.