War’s greatest casualty:
the defeat of time,
the theft of moments.
A father missed the first cry of his child,
a sound he cradled in his dreams overseas.
A woman waited in her hand-sewn dress,
but the dance never found her doorstep.
A boy skipped his last barefoot summer.
His kites stayed tangled in attic dusk,
and the clouds wandered without him,
missing their swift-footed friend.
A child with hair spun from the sun
counted sugar grains in a mason jar—
no sweet fingerprints on glass,
no sugary lips licked clean,
no soft kitchen sounds,
as cookies rose in golden light.
The loudest boy in school,
with a laugh like wind through trees,
learned to whisper—
watched his mother fold coupons like prayers,
read headlines like scripture.
He never raised his voice again.
A mother never stitched the promised dress—
one to match the ribbon in her daughter’s hair.
The fabric still lies folded
beneath a sun-drenched window,
soft as a breath not taken.
A soldier never felt the nudge
of his old dog’s nose.
The collar stays,
name faded,
hanging by the back door.