The Soldier in the Snapshot

Eighty years have now passed —
He is rail thin,
Barely recognizable
in that faded, glossy, curled square.

Wrapped in grey
and
metal-helmetted.
Smiling, always smiling.

Duty bound,
Honor bound,
This enlisted man,
Who crossed the vast blue Pacific,
Who left his life for five long years.

Did he think this might be his last photo?
Or was he hopeful yet —
and assured of his return?
Of his country’s victory?
Did he know it would be cherished so?

That it would adorn for infinite hours,
the cracked, chipped, wooden table
in the tiny Brooklyn apartment?
That it would be gazed upon by her worried, loving eyes —
Constantly?

That Mother’s trembling hands would let the photo go
only when she gingerly, tremblingly, placed it on the tree?
Oh, that Christmas tree —
it would grace the kitchen’s corner
until he was home.

“Oh, we’ll leave the tree up for you, Sonny,” she’d write to him.
Her nickname for him —
So like the sun was her baby boy.
She didn’t know the calendar would read July when finally,
finally, he was granted leave.

And still the tree stood —
Greeting him,
Bare. Lifeless. Beautiful.
The most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
A promise kept.

Searching for more holiday pieces? Try these:

• A Christmas Love – Christmas Poetry
• Holiday Refrain – Holiday Prose
• Man in the Shadows – Christmas Fiction
• Weaving Lace – Christmas Poetry

Christine Mooney

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Christine Mooney - Florida, USA

Christine, a poet and memorist, was a teacher and homeschool mom of 40 years, a curriculum developer and lifestyle columnist. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Education / English and a Master’s degree in Education / Reading Disabilities, both from St. John's University in NYC. A lifelong New Yorker who now lives in Florida, Chris is a realtor and baker as well as perpetually writing and editing her manuscripts for publication someday.

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