It may seem a little lazy to post a re-run, but it's not the worst way I could think of to remember 65 years of a free Europe.
Fighting the primal male urge to skip
stones out along the water,
he might say, "This is where
I landed," or, "This is where
my friend died."
Or amid the bustle of that South Pacific
cruise ship, he might cock his head
a little and say, "We heard
the plane coming in before
any of us saw it."
Or with a EuroRail pass clutched in one hand
and a large-print mystery in the other,
he might say, "It took us months
to get this far," about the swift-moving
Or standing awkwardly by the flag,
back bent and knees newer
than the rest of him, he might
shift that rumpled hat from hand
to hand, remembering.
Memorial Day, 2004