Poetry:
A Distant Peace in the
Sixties for David
By Sandra Nestlerode-Hale
What happened to
the young man I marched
Beside in Washington
that May Day?
With lines of helmeted
police covering the walks —
Was that you?
Remember we had
no idea when they’d charge —
When we’d collide.
Spring promised new life
Yet we throbbed
to the threat
Of pounding feet.
May Day 1969,
The Potomac glistened
beyond the drive.
Its watery lights
measured our tide.
We came to cry
in a crowd.
The city split
in two:
Those of us who
locked elbows and cried,
Hell no! We won’t
go!
And the silent
police like statues in violent blue.
Their beautiful
horses trained to stomp and bite.
Was that you beside
me marching?
Husband of my youth?
Once you touched
my hair with honest fingers,
Your eyes steady.
Cherry blossoms lay at our feet.
I remember wanting
only to love
Just before the
tear gas.
Anger burned
In our faces as
friends were going to war,
To a country we’d
never learned in geography.
We fought our fear
by loving hard.
My parents dead
Yours pushed you
out
Doesn’t know what
he wants, they said.
That day, you,
You cried in my
quaking arms
Thin feather-speckled
things around you now
Where once your
parents’ wings had curled
Was that you?
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