Kay Robertson the past two years has been writing poetry with an on-line group from Writers Village University. Their generous sharing, encouragement and critiques have truly enriched her life for which she is truly grateful. Although she has been an avid reader for sixty years, writing has become a late-in-life avocation. A Washington native, she lives north of Seattle.
Spring 2010
Table of Contents - Vol. VII, No. 1
Kay Robertson
Tanned soldier in his fatigues
stands in a once-familiar place called home.
Wife, children, parents, friends swarm
toward him to embrace, kiss, laugh,
cry in relief at his survival.
Automatically, he smiles, greets each one;
subconsciously he is still on the battle line,
naked without his rifle; he struggles to remember
being a loving husband, father, son, pal,
memories washed away in the blood
of his brothers-in-combat.
Weeks later, the man stands
before the bathroom mirror, his small son
watches, then carefully mimics hand
and face movements as his daddy shaves.
Looking into that innocent countenance,
the soldier’s heart gives a painful thump,
first tiny crack in a frozen landscape.
© Kay Robertson
