Dedication to The Wall 11/14/82

Of course she was with him
chattering, rushing him through
the gravel parking lot onto
the shadowless lawn. She
dropped his hand long enough
to tighten the scarf around her neck
then pushed into gusts of wind,
one arm linked through his

— the other swinging a Brownie
Kodak from her wrist. They scaled
down a worn slope to the dedication
area where crowds milled around
the stretch of black panels. His eyes
scanned middle-aged men in field jackets
gazing into the reflecting wall. Over
and over he witnessed fingers trace

then linger upon a name. Behind
the camera her laughter slapped air
as she snapped pictures of the day's
glory. Focusing on her husband—
she commanded him to smile. Alone
in silence, he stood touched only
by drab olive and dress blues
blending under clouds,
bleeding steadily across

black granite. He turned into beating
winds, raised his collar and trudged up
the dry embankment away from her—
way from them all. Those who'd been there
— they'd understand, just as he realized
she never could.

S.D. Sawyer
4/26/1984