“Tattoo on Leaving Gettysburg”
The dead of Gettysburg reach out, soak us with desire.
Teaching us its tears that shape their ghosts.
Even down at the Blue Parrot,
Drinking Pennsylvania Porter and Jameson’s
We find ourselves with them,
And at the motel
Phone ringing with 2am complaints,
Does not stop us the living from honouring the dead.
In the morning Stacy’s Chrome Garden
Soft hum needles lullaby beneath my skin,
Winged horses form a few more drops of blood for Gettysburg
While you, holding my hand as if in hospital
Think of ways to further delay our leaving
Because like me you crave the company of ghosts
And too you know the need the dead have for healing.
from the Ides of March Journal Vol 1, issue 3. september 2011