Cadence
Cadence
The sonographer’s jelly is cold
nerves jump at the
sensation
whirring
whooshing and blurring
and finally landing on a solid
140 bpm
Your son’s heart song.
The physical therapist’s gel burns
muscles pang at the pressure
pulsing
throbbing and aching
ultimately giving in
yet the cadence heard now is
your son’s voice echoing in memory while
bombs drop
in high definition
on the screen in front of you.
“If I die in a combat zone box me up and ship me home. Pin my medals on my chest, tell my momma I did my best. Tell her when she goes down to sleep
remember me but don't you weep, in my coffin I will lie, grounded to inspection side. Sound off,1,2, sound off,3,4, bring it on down, 1, 2, 3, 4.” ~David Potter
