100 years ago

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. 

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