During World War II
my father kept a journal
in his fine hand,
if Harvard doesn't want it,
I hope it goes to the great
war museum in Australia where he served.
Today it lives in a safe deposit box.
In truth he fought another war
it was with Mother and with me.
Son of a Gloucester fish monger
Mom goingback to The Boat
the tensions even good sex can only bandage
there was bound to be conflict
a lot of quiet in that grande breakfast nook.
Dad's second war was outside Freeville, New York.
We made peace before he died.
There was no victory.
Victory is in finding peace
only cheap victory is found in war.
The peace at last between us
the greatest blessing of our lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem