A Dedication to Albert J. Berard

 

Albert J. Berard

Albert J. Berard, 1924-2020


My Father’s Covid

the landing craft 
of my father’s life
has once again ground
itself on omaha beach
but the iron door 
is not dropping
normandy is all gusts
and bluster like always 
like him night is falling
and he wonders why 
no order to disembark
and why he is alone 
in the hold’s center 
a single candle 
gutters and gasps
drowning in the liquid
of its own meltedness
my father wonders if
he’s dreaming or gone
crazy until he hears a
woman’s voice calling
his name from the darkening 
cliffs he recognizes her but
doesn’t the candle sputters
he huddles in the corner of
his craft I hope he knows 
not to wait for me (denied 
permission to board by
executive order) I hope
when the wick exhales 
and all the iron falls away
he’ll see only enemyless
beach moonlit and know
his one love’s call unhiding
in the high hedgerows 

Wayne-Daniel Berard

 

 

Tahira Rehman, Soul-Lit Feature Poet Summer 2020

 

 

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