Day 298

Some morning years from now
when the air is clear
and young orange trees
are beginning to fruit in the groves
and children shout to each other
in the shade of the few older trees
that will have withstood this —
some morning years from now
when you hear, in the distance, 
a plane flying from one continent
to another, passing overhead,
and you don’t take cover or feel
that shiver of fear in your heart —
that morning, when you sit
outside your house, rocking
the youngest of those
born after — will you be ready
to tell the story?  Will you hesitate
for a moment over the page,
feel the presence of those
who fell along the way,
their voices calling to you to begin?