The Lucky Son
First the war belonged
to my grandfather
before he left his ghost
in the trenches.
It clung to my father
returning home on leave—
death’s residues smothered
our pillows and sheets.
thinned my mother’s hair,
skin scuffed to confetti.
After discharge, he, the lucky son,
never imprisoned or wounded,
emerged broken by its shadow.
Born a child of that time
I inherited his story.
When it breathed, I breathed—
just as every child learns
to inhabit its parent’s myths.
*
Sharon M. Carter is a poet and visual artist originally from Lancashire, England. She lives on the Olympic Coast near Seattle. Her work has been published in magazines including Terra Nova, The Madrona Project, Pontoon, Ars Medica and the Take a Stand: Art Against Hate, anthology. Her poetry book, Quiver, was published last year.
www.sharonmcarter.com
