Luxembourg, 1942
If he could tell you
he would say that
it feels nothing like falling asleep
there is no well lit cinemascope
flashback of your life
he would say that
he remembered, not everything
not even necessarily the good things
the first time he walked into the Prospect Park Zoo
laughing as the elephant moms bathed their children
with water collected in their trunks
his grandmother eccentric as only
Italian heritage can give you
but maker of the most delicious
cheesecake east of the Hudson
and his brother, Steve, so burdened with life
except that one night on Coney Island
the sun painting across the sky in gold,
white, scarlet, lilac, fuchsia,
and the bluest sky he had ever seen,
until Luxembourg, first tour, 1942, 9th Infantry,
Private First Class 12123586
when a bullet took away his ability to walk
and he was carried on a makeshift stretcher
through a field of wheat, which
he had always thought sounded like the waves
but when the wind is in the right mood
the moving stalks sound somewhere between
stern and outright angry
as if the very earth was running out of space
to keep the blood
Matt Macdonald is an Edinburgh based poet, who performs across the Central Belt. He is currently in preparation for his first solo show in the Free Fringe, and his debut collection in June.