Comment on this article

Forget I Gave You Ancestors to Die For
by Elisavietta Ritchie

Forget I gave you ancestors to die for,
their portraits, medals, multicolored ribbons framed
high on my wall—all yours someday.

Certain uncles lie on foreign fields, heroic and
unmarked, where now potatoes grow and children play,
their bones the same as those who merely served, or fled.

Forget I early taught you to be brave,
face all one does in childhood and beyond.
You do not want that plot in Arlington so soon.

Forget you are a woman, made babies like the ones
you think to save. What woman’s meant to fight
in combat zones? Most wars are all around.

But you will go where you are told, regardless right
or wrong, tell others when their time to disembark.
So this is yours.

 

Return to: