The Hand

A harder man was what I meant to make, my print
an atlas stitched to a boy’s soft side. His mind changed

from the heat inside my palm – awakened to a god
who trades in brother love and psalms.



The Head

So neatly planned, but look how you have lost him.
See how our quiet Titan lifts the sky? Never an ending

or starting. Always the twilight of shoulders changed into
mountain ranges; always the life force tested and departing.
 


The Heart

Raiment of gold, a bronze shield, all the rivers on earth,
I would give back. How to weigh the gains against

the losses? The anthem instead of the man; a mother’s
birth-breaths; the ground still soft where he took his first steps.




Copyright © 2019  M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved.
Published i
n The Halcyone Literary Review, December 2019.

Author's website:
www.mbmclatchey.com
Prometheus’s
  
Regret

I
will always place the mission first. I will
never accept defeat. I will never quit.
I will
never leave a fallen comrade.

       
– Soldier’s Creed