I wonder why my husband’s father did
not speak of World War II. He flew a plane,
B25 by name. The Air Force hid
something. Aleutian Islands wielded pain
with cold and secrets he would never share.
You’d see a dignified and quiet man
when meeting him. War memories weather? Fair.
Or maybe, since we do not know, he’d scan
the skies of what he’d had to do. This caused
the swallowing of words that would describe
this past part of his life. Silenced and paused,
he kept tight to himself his wartime tribe.
After he died we found a little book
with names of buddies. Some the World War took.