Remembrance has to be more than a day.

So we wear the poppy, go to the cenotaph and maybe watch a movie to feel patriotic. Then what?

My family has always honoured the men and women who stand in the November cold and watch with sad, quiet eyes as the pipes play and the jets fly over one more time. Each year there are fewer of these hero’s as age and infirmity steals them from us one by one.

But there has to be more than 11 o’clock on the 11th day.  It’s disappointing-no disgusting-just how easily we turn the hero we thanked on the eleventh into the old geezer who’s taking too long at the cash register on the twelfth.

 


Time to Remember

 

Grandad SlaterSpit shined boots and far away eyes
Look past you, to comrades that never came home,
It’s time to remember.

The silence, a poppy, A pittance of time,
A poem dragged up from school days long ago.
It’s time to remember.

We’ll meet again and Sweet Lily Marlaine,
Auschwitz, and Buchhold, and Kaslo, BC.
It’s time to remember. r2

Quavering voice in a long Checkout line,
Halting and fumbling, with faltering steps.
Now, is the time to remember.

Crumbs on his shirt and stains on his pants,
Mind not quite certain, steps not quite sure.
This too, is the time to remember.

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