Near the band shell are Elms planted
for heroes of a forgotten war.
The trees create a thick canopy.
It’s cool. No grass grows.
A narrow path is pounded out by joggers
who pass never noticing the plaques
filled with names.
A child might say this place is haunted.
I only feel its sadness.
Young men who fought and died
never knowing what it is to live.
I walk here each day.
My pace quickens at its dark center.

©2003, Karen Karpowich

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Karen Karpowich lives and works in NYC. Her poetry appears both on and off line. Her new chapbook Fado can be viewed on TMPoetry.com.

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