In a winter that wasn’t, a long white clot
by the Atkins vault, just past the statue
for the supreme sacrifice.
Near me, a family of deer enter the cemetery
camouflaged. Light brown, white-tailed.
Some spirits still visit.
The balustrade stands in disrepair,
but the stone eagles still guard the bronze
Doughboy, who stands upon his rifle.
Ciampa’s controversial soldier, not warlike enough.
On the plinth, read the names of Medford’s fallen,
their headstones beneath a gentle copse,
and glimpse how love leaves wreaths,
and find, deeper in Oak Grove,
silk flowers for a grandmother.
Through the thick branches on Roberts Road,
imagine the generations of widows
walking here. As today, on a separate lawn,
these grieving a more recent war.
Longer rows, beneath the ageless oaks
that frame a similar silence.
Who has seen a tree die?
Denizens ignore the living,
but the snag inspires.
Who has seen a soldier die?
Civilians are spared
all but the coffin.
Still, country to country,
we dismiss the peace
these and each
fought and died for,
as other lives are offered,
as other lives are tendered
Click here to read Max Heinegg on the origin of the poem.
Image by Owen.outdoors on pexels.com, licensed under CC 2.0.
Max Heinegg:
I live by Oak Grove cemetery in Medford, MA, and often walk by the statue in the poem, so I finally decided to research it a bit. I read that the statue was the source of some controversy because the soldier (standing on his weapon) seems to be triumphing over the warlike instinct as much as over any foe. This led me to thinking about our current military conflicts and how, as Blake lamented, “the hapless Soldiers sigh / Runs in blood down Palace walls.”
I don’t think I am alone in my frustration with my country’s willingness to send fresh generations of soldiers off to war, and so the poem tries to reflect on the cyclical nature of needless violence, and to make room for the private, personal griefs that are made visible in a cemetery, either by the visitors to the graves, or by the decorations they leave.
Although the poem is in free verse, I wanted to rein it in a bit and give it some formal touches, so you’ll find some architecture in the stanzas and the use of parallel structure. I wanted the gravitas of the content to be echoed a bit by the form.
Max Heinegg is the author of Good Harbor (2022), which won the inaugural Paul Nemser Prize, Going There (2023), the chapbook Keepers of the House (2025), all on Lily Poetry Review Press. He has taught English in the public schools of Medford, MA for 28 years and is poet-laureate of the city of Medford, 2025-2027. He is also a songwriter and recording artist. His most recent record, Through Traveler, is a series of poems set to music, from Walt Whitman to Cornelius Eady. Connect with him on the web at www.maxheinegg.com
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