That Far-Away Look Poem by Pat Jourdan

Talking at Christmas, he falters -
now and again, a distance falls,
a new look in his eyes
as if he watches invisible films.
We chatter about expected snow,
surrounded by wafts of roasting chicken,
sharp notes of clove and onion,
the tang of mulled wine
and all the battery of kitchen noises.
We never ask about Afghanistan,
don't like to pry - the medals are enough.
Our brother is different now,
his internal landscape changed from ours
as we merrymake round the best tablecloth
covered with embroidered stars.
Only in photographs it shows,
that distant look, as if he
watched open country still, far away,
always on duty
even on Christmas Day.