D-Day: A poem

Today marks the 71st anniversary of D-Day, where Americans landed on the shores of Normandy. 

Library of Congress

Chief Photographer's Mate (CPHOM) Robert F. Sargent, U.S. Coast Guard

Here's a poem I wrote in college about an imaginary conversation with my grandfather who survived D-Day. He died when I was five or so and I have no recollections of him. 

He was Welsh and the word for grandfather is Taid, which I what I called him.

Overload on the Shores of Omaha

"I don't want to talk about it

and that's final."

I had heard these words

time and time again.

Taid never wanted to talk about his vacation in France

I would ask questions

from stories that I heard at school.

He could complain that I was bothering him

and my mother took me away

so he could rest in peace.

Then one day, he called me

to his side.

Finally he shared his story.

Only once he started,

I wanted to beg him to stop.

I didn't want to hear how afraid he was

or how the sea surged crimson

at the crack of dawn

when they landed on the shores of France.

I didn't want to hear about the bodies lying on the beach

or the ones floating

who would never swim back to shore.

He told me about the recurring nightmare,

his friends would call out for help

but there was no where to turn

and no where to run.

The next day, Taid took his last breath.

I stood proudly by his gave

but I did not cry

not even when they folded the flag

or when the shots rang out.

I played the role of his brave soldier.