The Last Thing - A Poem for Memorial Day

THE LAST THING

The last thing I saw was a disk of golden sun through a haze of smoke.  In the few months I've been here, the sun and duty's risk are the only constants.

The last thing I heard was the report of fire. Just one last wild spurring of colors made sound, shaping the hot blind earth into darkness.

The last thing I felt was an intake of breath, air drawing in deep. It lays warm in