| Butler Pennsylvania 41 After the War, 1945 And the figures on the porches fathers and sons who had returned from war tried to let forgetting happen as did mothers who sat in wicker chairs beside windows where faded banners hung studded with the golden stars. They could only sit there, silent on glider swings or those on chains, some seeking calm in rocking chairs their mothers had used to rock them to sleep in while around her men had spoken of Marne, Argonne or Verdun. Now, if at all, language came in broken strands with long silent gaps between, while those who heard would mine for meanings. But nothing formed. Only the back and forth of swings grinding their metallic dirge. In time one of them would rise, wander out on warped boards to stare in battle-fright at oaks or pines that slowly stirred into what someone assured him were tender timbers standing guard over his safe plot, his earth, his haven, his hearth. But the others? Who assured them, still doubting their being safe home? Was it the noonday bell at Franklin and North or the sun on the backs of Main Street buildings a smile maybe on a face they saw or was it the pounding at the mill or the shafts of scrub grass on the path leading up to Elephant's Back hill? Next Home |