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Only Hope

John T. Hitchner

Sometimes things break,
fall apart.
Sometimes another war
but not enough remembrance.
Dishes and furniture and lives thrown away.
What’s left?
Dreams of kisses and touches,
nightmares of search-and-destroy missions
where your buddies stepped on IED’s.
After you come home...
too many voices in the house,
too many questions at the clinic.
Even silence in the bedroom...

Hope? Maybe.
Maybe hope comes
in memory of a single voice,
or the sight of a familiar car,
or a face very much like someone
you once kissed.
It is hope;
nothing tangible,
no one you can hold,
no one you can ask to stay the night.
Only hope.

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