When I was young the memory of WW2
was strong in the adults who were children
when the war raged over their heads,
and went well beyond their understanding.
The biggest sign of their reliving
what they could neither forgive nor forget
was the insistence that their offspring
always have shoes that were new
and that these shoes fitted well.
So far, so fresh a start,
but after that the weight
of being grateful for the war
that meant I had to have new shoes
became something of a burden.
How much happier would I have been
with somewhat less well shod feet,
but sharing more equally with others?
Where none of us endured
a forced gratitude, because a war
had been won for our creature comforts?
No comments:
Post a Comment