The Stories He Told, and the Ones He Didn’t

For my Grandfather,

Written Veteran’s Day, 2022  

Edited November 11, 2024  

with love from Sarah

Every Veteran's Day, I remember

my grandfather

had the best stories.

in tokyo some fishermen

gave him a pet octopus—

an orange octopus

that lived in the barracks.

I do not know its name.

my grandfather did not tell

the story of its end.

he told the story

of its adventure.

my grandfather

had the best stories.

my grandfather hiked

mt. fuji in a blizzard,

back when the mountains

were always white with snow.

my grandfather

had the best stories,

stories of training

in south carolina's hot sun,

crawling through poison ivy.

the base was filled

with rattlesnakes

under live machine gun fire.

my grandfather

had the best stories—

of how he came to respect his sergeant

who caught a live grenade

and tossed it up out of their hole.

it exploded before

hitting the ground.

my grandfather

had the best stories.

but now I hear

what he did not say.

when I was small—

days before christmas 1954—

the 101st airborne flew him away

from his new wife,

away from their first christmas

together.

new years eve he stood guard duty

on a troop ship sailing beneath

the golden gate bridge

towards the dark expanse of the sea,

towards yokohama, japan.

the ocean air heavy,

the cold steel deck of the ship

beneath his feet.

war and occupation,

a lonely christmas—

those are not beautiful things

for poems.

my grandfather

had the best stories.

my grandfather developed photos

taken at camp fuji

of an honest john rocket launch.

he sent them across the sea

to my grandmother.

she sent back photos

of their new baby.

if you ask me

to really write a poem about war,

I think you will not like it.

but grandfather—

the way you told your stories,

the way you loved us—

that is the poem

I will remember.