Veterans Day
As a boy,
my brother planted
two forest-thieved trees:
I was not yet.
when I was,
I saw him in dayrooms
frequently;
older, I thought,
than anyone should be.
trembling fingers
stained -'gotta smoke?'-
with nicotine
thorazine-haunted eyes,
crossed leg
swinging endlessly
quickly, then,
before I leave
kiss his grizzled cheek
ashamed, at age seven,
that I felt
only relief
As a boy,
my brother planted in our yard
two forest-thieved trees:
but they are not my brother,
and neither
is he.
This poem is dedicated to my brother, Ken Trachsel, a kind, brilliant soul who was 19 when I was born. A high school valedictorian with a promising future as an engineer, he joined the Navy and suffered a complete nervous breakdown on an aircraft carrier. As my only memories of him consist of visits to VA hospitals and mental wards, I feel I was robbed of ever getting to know him. He lives today in a group home in Akron, Ohio. -- Rebekah Shardy~
