The Road Beneath Our Feet

The Clouds Of Viet Nam

It took eleven years of walking 
to reach the marble names,

afraid you’d find your name,
afraid you wouldn’t.

Fated to be alive when your friends were dead,
you smoothed your mournful clothes

and turned toward the Memorial.
You talked about perspectives,

the marble of memorials,
the angles simple, unadorned,

contained by a sun shining on black surfaces,
surprisingly radiant.

— Grace Cavalieri