That year of sorrow, 1968, saw Dr. King brutally struck down. As today, the country erupted with racial turmoil and the thought "Black Lives Matter" was pushed into yet another era.
turtle crossing--
blows back every time
the big truck roars past
In Vietnam the Tet offensive, proportionately taking more Black lives than white, left us reeling. I was stationed at an air force base in southern Georgia, in a community where we asked Black boys to die in the rice paddies of Vietnam but not go to school with us or use the same bathrooms, restaurants, and hotels. The week following Dr. King’s assassination, I was assigned yet another military burial detail for a soldier sent back. This one in a poor Black neighborhood of Jacksonville, Florida. Nineteen-year-old body, full military regalia, pallbearers, honor guard, and bugler.
During “Taps,” it was my job to fold the flag that draped the coffin into a tight triangle and present it to the mother. Handing it to her, I delivered the little speech that ended with “a symbol of a grateful nation.” She looked at me with tears and disdain and said in her soft voice, “Sergeant, this is not a grateful nation. Thank you anyway.”
During “Taps,” it was my job to fold the flag that draped the coffin into a tight triangle and present it to the mother. Handing it to her, I delivered the little speech that ended with “a symbol of a grateful nation.” She looked at me with tears and disdain and said in her soft voice, “Sergeant, this is not a grateful nation. Thank you anyway.”
A grandson lingers—
melt and run downSnowflakes light on the long black wall,
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