When the Boys Go Marching Away

When the Boys Go Marching Away

I watch the spring in the steps of boys
heading to meet their makers.

They leave behind 
daughters named Hope—
wives named Faith.  

The flies follow them down the road
beyond the sunflower seeds 

scattered on the front porches, 
the yards overrun with dandelions.

When they turn back they see
their Faiths in blue and gray dresses.
Their Hopes crying—pressing palms to the air,  

blue and gold ribbons 
braided into silence from 
their daughters’ and wives’ hair.

They think they heard—ahead 
the sound of babies coming alive 
on this Resurrection Sunday.