I intended to write a piece of flash fiction, but it came out as a poem instead.
Salty water smooths the ridges on the bottle from the past.
“Sorry,” say the penciled words, preserved within the glass.
Sorry, says the valentine, I’m sorry, Hank, my love,
I gave your books away today and your old baseball glove.
Dirty Kamikaze with their red and rising sun,
I wish we’d never heard of war against the Jap and Hun.
I wish that if you had to die, it could have been on land
So you could have some daisies, and not just salt and sand.
Yesterday was Valentine’s; I cried and thought of you,
I even bought this card because it seemed the thing to do.
Right now a man waits at the door to drive me into town,
He knows the story of your life and how your carrier went down.
We’re going to the courthouse; I’ll be wearing my new hat,
And I cannot help but wonder, Hank, what you would say to that.
I’m getting married—sorry, Hank, my love,
I won’t forget to think of you, alone up there above.