The thought of losing a child cripples me [emotionally]. Although I have thankfully not lost a child to war my mama heart hurts so deeply for those who have that is how this poem was born so many years ago.
That is why I share it here today.
But let me not forget – let none of us forget.
Memorial Day is more than a long weekend, a parade, or a flag waving in the warm breeze. For many families, it is a chair left empty. A voice that no longer answers. A folded flag resting where a son, daughter, husband, wife, father, or mother once stood.
Today, we remember those who took an oath beneath a flag of pride and came home draped beneath it.
This poem was written years ago, but like grief itself, its meaning never ages. It is for the mothers who still whisper lullabies into silence, for the families who carry pride and heartbreak in the same breath — the same trembling hands. And for every fallen service member who gave all they had —whose absence still echoes through the lives they left behind.
Little Man By Janna Hill
IT’S TIME TO GO TO bed little man Cover up your head little man I’ll see you when the sun breaks in the morn Say your prayers and close your eyes I’ve locked the monsters all outside She’d sang those words to him since he was born
He grew to be a brave young lad And followed after his ole dad Beneath a flag of pride his oath was sworn They brought him home in silk lined wood And all around him soldiers stood While Butterfield’s Lullaby played upon the horn
It’s time to go ahead little man I know that you weren’t scared little man My heart breaks I can’t see you and I mourn I’ve said my prayers for your closed eyes I’ve tucked my feelings deep inside She sang into a folded flag of thorns.
She would be 66 years old today. Instead, she is frozen in time at 17 and I ….
I sit with what I have left of her – a lot of cherished memories, a handful of photographs, her purse, her wallet, her 45 records and her old scrap book.
Between the garden and the grandkids I have completely neglected NPM. tsk tsk tsk
I must somehow set aside a bit of quality time for National Poetry Month in days remaining. I just must! Maybe I’ll set an alarm for that too. I only have fifty-gillion to five-gazillion alarms already.
So today I said to myself, “self you need to read one and post one.” Of course that won’t catch me up. So I read Too Much Pain by Donna Ashworth. And for a post I went willy-nilly and typed “22” into one of my files and this is what popped up.
Some people do the same thing when looking for a bible verse to inspire/guide/comfort and swear that fate will always give you an appropriate response.
I have been doing a lot of reflecting these past couple of weeks. Convalescents affords me that luxury; and let me tell you all of life feels like a luxury- a new lease on life.
If you follow me on TikTok you know I survived being electrocuted late last month. The after effects are a pain and still manifesting. Still, I am sooo grateful to be on the topside of the soil.
Anywho, I thought I would share some of my reflecting with this poem from Getting Me Back.
A little aside: My last visit to the old place was about twenty years ago. It was one of those random stops; my youngest son was in high school and we were on our way home from a dental appointment.
I said, “Hey you wanna see where I lived once as a child?”
Being the adventurous soul that he is he said, “sure!”
So, without further adieu, here you go.
For illustration to feed your imagination only XoXo
🖤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🖤
Life behind the railroad tracks
We called home a wooden shack
Lulled to sleep by passing trains
A tattered roof deterred the rains
Chilling winds crept through the walls
Carrying echoes of coyote calls
Two to three in every bed
With coats and quilts to cover our heads
Winter’s cruelty calmed us none
We unfurled early to meet the sun
Neither ice nor snow could hold us back
In hopeless times we crossed that track
Coon hunts and rat kills, boy we had fun
Don’t think it strange, it’s just what we done
June bugs and fireflies, the games that they sparked
