I slept with the anonymous dead
in mass graves,
quick-lime for blankets,
loose earth above,
and drilled a hole up
so light could tickle their bones
but they didn't care.
So I sat with them,
those who never held a microphone
or received a medal,
whose chief recognition was a birthday,
until I learned their secret:
They were enough,
in themselves, to matter.
Previously Published in 2 River View