I saw the tan boots on the riderless horse
following the caisson.
I watched as the jets took to the sky
The pain of loss felt in the pit of the stomach
the wind torn from my lungs
my eyes moist and red
I looked and saw the jet peel off
and the hole in the formation
was like a wound that, if it heals at all,
will heal more slowly than it should

I heard America the Beautiful; I knew she was,
I was glad to have the thought echoed
and the voice which made it so real
so much more beautiful
is silenced forever.

It’s been a tough week. I wonder, will
my child know the greatness of these men?
will she hear Ray Charles’ sing
and smile, to know the man,
will she think of the great leader of men
who turned the tide, and in turning
turned our nation great once more?
and then, I know, I have a purpose
more powerful than I’d thought I had before
to raise a child is the work of heroes
to teach the child the memories
of glories past
and seal their truth into her mind
and let her, unwavering in her faith
grow to be an American
the way that Americans were made
when Americans were made great