The Draft
All memories ignite, he says, recalling
the odor of accelerants and charred
friends. Yesterday I walked to the sea
and looking into its deep crush
sensed something unseen washing
out, between tides and a shell-cut foot,
sand and the gull’s drift, or the early names
I assign to faces. This is not sadness.
Somewhere the called numbers meet.
* * *
“The Draft” first appeared in Taos Journal of International Poetry & Art.
O at the Edges 
WOW!
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Thnak you. I’m so pleased it resonated for you.
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Your poems have such a delicate balance and precision. You evoke so many responses and associations with so few words.
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Thank you. I’m a bit of a word nerd, and can’t help but spend time searching for the right words/sounds.
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Yes, I love this poem and its compactness – and the poignant power of that stunning last line!
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Thanks, Lynne! I could have written an essay, but as per usual went with less. But perhaps an essay will come out of it at some point.
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I believe you’re remembering the 1969 U.S. draft lottery with this one, or at least you’re causing me to.
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Yep, you are correct.
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