Arlington National Cemetery
A lone house-key, a melting Twix,
two Miller Lites, a crucifix.
A fifth of rum, a pack of Kools,
report cards from Chicago schools.
Four hard-backed books, a tear-stained poem,
a cell phone programmed to call home.
Three dozen letters never read,
a pillow from a double bed.
A Barbie doll, three Lego cars,
Nine lightning bugs in Mason Jars.
Six polished stones, a strand of beads,
a planter filled with apple seeds.
Two coffee cups that catch the rain,
three baseball caps, a plastic train.
Eight birthday cards, a catcher's mitt,
a sweater someone's mother knit.
Four thousand pictures creased and torn.
One wedding veil that won't be worn.