For Edward Hammond – 1900-1918
I think I found your grave,
Soon after my mother died
I cried over your name,
My grief and your mother’s
Met in the effects.
Once sifted, as behest,
The internet filled a void with you,
Your mother’s longed for
Late born son who
Bitter, spinster sisters shunned,
Went to war, too young,
And died.
Your mother’s treasured souvenir,
Her secret hidden epitaph’s a
Sepia card, a very early photograph:
Her Soldier son is tissue wrapped,
Bounded by
A Christening gown,
Ribboned silk,
Hidden beneath
My mother’s mother’s brother’s
Name
Buried with his mother’s pain
In the lining of a trunk,
And Google finds in Flanders.
Cherry Coombe 