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To Lucinda
-to let her know what has

happened since 1921
by Ange Tremain

There was a Great Depression; not like the one in the Eighties,
but longer and harder. Children in rags, fathers forging alone to
find work, money, anything to bring life to hungry eyes.

And another war. More boys marching up smoke-blackened hills,
stumbling through the bloodied grasses; generals unsatisfied with
1918.

They have walked the moon. Mortal feet desecrating the silver
orb that told your father when to plant and hung shining above
your first kiss.

Now here I trampled over the graves of your friends and children
as the earth movers sing out over the torn ground

rill,
rill,

Rest in Peace.

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