Memorials

I keep the cross my grandfather

wore around his neck on his

dog tag chain from WWII in my wallet.

I have transferred it to each new

wallet to keep it safe and close

to me at all times.

It is a talisman of sorts for me.

I often attribute my survival through

the various dangers of youthful life,

stupid adventures and poor choices,

to this simple cross once worn through

the terrors of war.

It is the most personal of Memorials

I can have. It is a treasure to me and

I do not know what I would do if I

foolishly lost it or had it taken from

me. To not have it, this Memorial,

I would be demolished.

I also keep the obituary of my other

grandfather in my wallet. He too was

a WWII Vet. It is tattered and worn

from all the transitions from wallet

to wallet. It too is a Memorial I hope

keeps me safe from harm.

I’m okay with giant statues and

chiseled facades depicting the heroism

of all those men and women that have

stood up for their beliefs, who took it

upon themselves to sacrifice their lives

for the betterment of those that come after.

Those statuesque Memorials are for the collective

consciousness to remember, and while

important, they lack the visceral intensity

of holding a sacred item in your hands,

you cannot turn a plaque or statue over through your

fingers and feel the weight it is burdened with.

You cannot run your fingers across the small

details of a special trinket without the fires of

memory igniting in your mind,

flashing to scenes of those times,

now so long gone. A precious item

of innumerable value to inspire and comfort.  

Personal Memorials, the weathered photo, the broken locket,

the knick-knack on a shelf, the item that means

absolutely nothing to a stranger

yet means everything to you.

These are the Memorials I value

more than any other.