Dana Furrow
Hillsboro, Oregon, U.S.A.

Weathered Stone

Atop his head, an embroidered baseball cap. He is a proud marine who served during World War II, spelled out in bright red letters above the brim. He braved the war at seventeen in the South Pacific and China. Red, white, and blue ribbons dot the walls of his 1960’s farmhouse; a samurai sword hangs above the fireplace. In a little black box, a picture of his brother. “Lost his leg to a mortar fire.” He shuffles to his bedroom and back. Between crooked fingers is a Japanese flag. Silky. Worn and discolored but whole. Like him.

timeless—
grandpa’s cheek presses
to mine