blankets closer
around our shoulders.
Mama starts the fire
in the woodstove
and puts on a kettle.
There is a knock.
We hear the door open.
Mama begins to laugh
and then cry.
We rush down the steps
and out of the apartment.
There is a long black
limousine
in front of the building,
with a Christmas tree
strapped to the top.
Two men in black suits
and top hats
with red poinsettias pinned
to their lapels
are singing
“In the Bleak Midwinter”
while unloading
wrapped gifts
and food
from the car.
All of the kids get presents
My brothers get spinning tops
and toy soldiers
and a popgun.
And I get
a white rabbit fur hat
that covers all of my curls
and matching mittens.
Marguerite
would have loved
the warmth
and softness.
My mother and father
get a turkey with stuffing
and a Christmas pudding
and decorations
and candles for the tree.
And my mother receives a card:
Dear Jeanne,
I read your letter.
I hope these humble gifts
help to bring joy
to your family.
Please have your husband report
to the Department of Human Resources
at the Ford Motor Company on Monday morning.
I have secured employment
for him there.
From our family to yours,
Merry Christmas,
Eleanor Roosevelt
I stand outside
watching the snow fall.
My new hat
makes me feel
like a Russian czarina
traveling across the tundra
in a horse-drawn sleigh.
Just as
I am about
to go in
I hear
a familiar rumble.
I close my eyes once
and open them.
A flood of emotion
enters me
as I see
a blond boy
driving
a Ford Cabriolet.
Where have you been?
I can’t answer.
I can’t stop kissing him
on his lips
on his eyelids.
He places his hands on my cheeks.
I was worried, Mary.
Really worried
that I had done something
wrong.
I know
eventually
I will have to tell him
about my lies.
My grief.
I press him
against the building
until he gives in.
Wraps his arms around me
until I can’t breathe.
Until I can’t feel
any more pain.
Will you marry me?
he asks,
holding my hand.
Billy, you know I can’t.
Because of your parents?
Yes, but also
because we’re so young.
And I want more.
Another man?
No.
I want to be more
than just a wife.
You can have it all.
A job, a husband, children.
everything
you want.
I just need some time
to figure out
what I want.
I’m not going anywhere.
I can wait, Mary.
Can you?
For a thousand years.
As long
as we keep kissing.
Giorgos (Gio)
Saint-Malo, France
1918
She drops my hands
and backs away
from me.
You’re scaring me, Gio.
Jeanne, listen to me.
My sister was pregnant
and starving.
I convinced my brother-in-law
to steal a lamb
for her.
He didn’t want to.
He argued with me.
I told him
if he didn’t want to help me,
I would do it myself.
Finally, he came with me.
My voice catches,
and I wait.
We both went to the mountains,
but only I returned.
I didn’t pull the trigger,
but I killed him, Jeanne.
I am crying now.
He would still be there
with my sister, with his child.
If it weren’t for me.
She looks out at the sea
and doesn’t say anything.
I can’t stop telling her
how I feel.
I can’t go home.
Not for a long, long time.
If I go back,
they’ll send me to jail.
I pause
and reach for her hand.
I used to want to be a fisherman,
like my father.
Now, all I want is a family.
I want a wife.
I want children.
To be the father I never had.
To be the father
my sister’s son never had,
because of me.
Her gray eyes are reflective pools.
There’s a deep ache
in my chest.
I take a step closer
and she doesn’t move
away.
Gio.
In one swift motion
I pull her to me.
Press
her body
and her lips
to mine.
She gasps
muscles taut,
aware
of the newness
between us.
She stays close,
her nose touching mine.
I can feel her
soft, short breaths.
Then
she looks at me
with wild eyes
and pulls away.
Runs
out of the cemetery
toward the hospital.
The gate swinging
behind her.
In my mind
I kiss her hand
when she feels my forehead.
I kiss her neck
when she bends over my bed.
I kiss her lips
in the hallway
when no one is looking.
I kiss her memory
when she has gone home.
I kiss her
all night long.
The doctor shakes me awake
Listens to my heart.
Takes my blood pressure.
Has me follow
; a white light with my eyes.
Asks me to walk
around the room.
You’re healing well, soldier.
He scribbles
some notes in my file.
I want to feel proud
of my recovery.
Instead,
I feel a sinking dread.
Jeanne
Saint-Malo, France
1918
The Red Cross girls
and the volunteer nurses
decide to host a dance.
We decorate the hall with flags
and banners
and the girls
wax the floor four times
so it’s as
slick as a ribbon. 28
Soldiers come
from all the bases
nearby.
They arrive
packed into their trucks,
sitting on each other’s laps.
They are singing love songs,
swigging from their canteens.
Cigarettes tucked
behind their ears.
Arms are wrapped
around each other’s shoulders
like brothers.
Every soldier in Saint-Malo
except Gio.
Who shook his head
and pointed
to his cane.
The kiss
hangs between us.
A piece of fruit
swinging
slightly too far away
to grasp.
It is a moon dance
and there’s a big, round moon
made of tin
with a painted face.
All the lights are turned out
except one pointed
at the big moon.
Six boys sit up in the balcony
with colored lamps
red, green, blue, and white. 28
The boys turn
the colored lights on the floor
and the drums start beating
and arms start waving
and pretty soon the men
are throwing the women
into the air
legs hopping
like popcorn
in a hot oiled pan.
There are about four soldiers
for every girl,
so I dance the fox-trot,
the one-step, and the waltz
about one hundred times.
Some of the boys
are handsome.
Some of the boys are meek.
They all smell different.
I feel different
in each of their arms.
Vera and I take a break
Wave our hands
and shoo the boys away
like flies on a pie.
Vera scans the room
for handsome men.
She wants
to try all of them
before she chooses
one.
Vera dances
with a handsome captain.
I sit and watch
and think of Gio.
I wish
I could kiss him
again.
Tell him
what happened
wasn’t his fault.
The music swells
and I close my eyes.
Imagine him swaying
to the music.
His cheek next to mine.
Repairing the damage
between us.
On the walk home
Vera thrums me
with questions
about which soldier
I like best.
She is smitten
with the American
she danced with several times.
He’s tall,
wears his uniform well,
and smells
like a bar of fancy soap.
He is one tall, cool glass of water,
Vera says with a wink.
I sigh
and tell her
the boy I wanted
to dance with the most
wasn’t there.
After we part
I stop under a streetlamp.
Lean my warm body
against a cool stone wall.
For a moment,
I think about sneaking
into the hospital.
I imagine lying down
next to him
in the same bed.
Kissing him
soft and slow.
I could be with him,
if I dared.
When I return home
Maman is crying.
A telegram
written on yellow paper
has fallen to the floor.
I pick it up
and read it.
Chère Madame,
It is my painful duty to inform you
that a report has this day
been received
from the War Office
notifying the death of:
(Nº) 16929
(Name) Pierre Prigent
(Regiment) 156th Foreign
(Date) 2 March, 1918
(Cause of Death) Tuberculosis
If any articles of private property
are found,
an application can be submitted
for their receipt.
I am,
forever,
your faithful servant,
S.R. Lauren
Officer in Charge of Records
I stand up
without saying a word.
I walk out the door
into the night.
Tears streaming
down my face.
My body numb.
My mind buzzing.
I see a group of young people
huddled together,
returning home
from the dance.
They are clutching bottles,
swaying and laughing
as they navigate
the uneven cobblestones.
I walk to the rampart
and climb the stairs.
Stand on the edge
of the granite wall.
For a moment, I imagine
what would happen
if my body
fell to the rocks
below.
The ocean seems endless.
I lie down on my side
and wrap my arms
around my legs.
A windless sail
collapsing
into itself.
When I wake
the horizon is filled
with a dark, hazy light,
which becomes
an orange glow.
A red orb rises
clear and brilliant
out of the daze.
For a moment,
my body is covered
in light.
I rise and walk a gravel path
lined with giant
magnolia trees.
The branches thick
with black starlings.
I stand still and watch them.
Hundreds of birds
shriek and cackle
a murmuration
of deafening chatter.
Then with the suddenness
of raucous applause
&
nbsp; erupting
at the end
of a grand performance
tous les oiseaux
take flight.
Maman won’t get out of bed
I stay home with her
for several weeks.
I think of Giorgos,
but I don’t want