Walter McDonald, 'Digging In A Footlocker'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Digging in a Footlocker

Crouched before dismantled guns,
we found war souvenirs
our uncle padlocked in the attic,
a brittle latch easily pried off.

Stiff uniforms on top, snapshots
of soldiers young as our cousins,
a velvet box of medals
as if he fought all battles

in World War II. Bayonets, machetes,
a folded flag, two hand grenades
with missing pins. We picked up teeth
like pennies, loose, as if tossed in,

a piece of something dark and waxy
like a fig, curved like a question mark,
a human ear. We touched dried pieces
of cloth stuck to curved bones

and held them to the light,
turning them over and over, wondering
how did uncles learn to kill,
what would happen when we grew up.

by Walter McDonald