of harm’s way; I saved his life, she said,

before I lost my arm. I don’t remember that.

I remember a soldier coming toward me

with his rifle pointed at my chest. He looked

at me—he saw me, Muriel. The rat was hungry,

he was hungry. Did that soldier see that I was

hungry, too? Of course he could have killed me.

But he didn’t—I had my rifle strapped

across my shoulder. He must have had

a moment of compassion—I don’t remember

this—but think about it, Muriel. A

German soldier looked me in the eye

and didn’t kill me. Instead—I’ve thought

long and hard about that moment—my

enemy decided to … disarm me.

A Sharp Yes-and-No Shoots Through Me / November 1917

A Sharp Yes-and-No Shoots Through Me

November 1917

Toward—I Don’t Know What / Muriel

Toward—I Don’t Know What

Muriel

Mama’s birthday is coming up, Grace says. Take this,

and add it to your egg money—see if it’s enough

to buy her a new hat in Washington. She gives me

all her money, a stream of warm coins poured

from one of her old socks into my hands.

All of it? I ask. Yes! She’s certain. Grace

almost makes me want to stay right here

with her and Ollie and Mama and Papa—

I start to think of everything I’ll miss. But my suitcase

is packed, and Papa calls out, We don’t have

all day. I hug Grace—Thank you. I’ll be home

in eight days. Help Mama all you can.

I ride to town with Papa, buy my ticket,

board the train, and wave goodbye.

And then the whistle blows and I’m carried

out of the life I know, toward—I don’t know what.

The world goes by outside—we pass farms like ours:

a girl no taller than Grace leads three cows to pasture;

a young man rides his horse along a rough dirt road;

a woman holds two chickens she’s just killed,

her large hands encircling their necks;

a little boy waves at us and grins when I wave back.

At every stop, young men get on the train,

their mothers weeping as they say goodbye: soldiers,

sailors, whole and bright-eyed like Frank and Ollie were

five months ago. I want to jump out of my seat

and stop them: Stay where you are, stay home!

Don’t go to war! Everyone around me

is offering them food, thanking them

for things they haven’t even done yet.

The young men soak up the admiration,

stand a little taller. It isn’t that they’re foolish—

I’m sure they’re brave and smart.

But they don’t know what’s coming.

They haven’t seen the look in Ollie’s eyes

as he struggles to recall what happened;

they haven’t tried to comfort Mrs. Norman.

Here with Grace / Ollie

Here with Grace

Ollie