Vapor Wake

Intelligence came on

about seven o’clock

that evening, without

any warning, for the

first time in two or three

months—I’d been crying,

my eyes were Christmas bulbs,

love had dropped its honeydew

and my mind was splattered

when suddenly I heard Edith Piaf

singing in the next room

and remembered that pretty souvenirs

were manufactured after the war

to be bought by soldiers

who had greatly suffered,

pink rayon handkerchiefs

with the flags of two countries

embroidered there—lo,

I could leave these shores,

I could sail home, I could

take something with me,

I could leave something in

return, and at that word

it came back, alive.