I meander along the shore

Black dress flowing in the salty, misty breeze

Sheets of grief folded in my hand

Crinkled by their many openings and closings

One handwritten
In a familiar script

Still identifiable, though quickly scrawled

Its scribbled words sadly stating

The sudden delay of celebration

The other, formally typed

Smooth, evenly spaced lines

Used thousands of times

Telling me it was for honor

For freedom

Apologizing for my loss

As if that made it all right

Now I’m left here on the shore

In a dress that should be white

Facing an aisle

Lined by vacant seats

That opens desolately to the sea

Reflecting the mourning sky

Clutching a once-creased folded flag

And sheets of grief