Church Conversations

The little wooden church stands no more

The ghost of conversations echo down Wattle Road.

Ladies in their Sunday best and hat

Look worried and ask with concern,

“Have you heard?”, “Are there letters home?”

“Is he near the demilitarised zone?”

Heads shake and eyes cast down

And she wonders if her son will ever come home.

I can see the concern on Aunty Peggy’s face

Her tired eyes and sad face.

Mother tells me to run to the shop,

But I want to listen to the serious chatter.

This sounds like something that really matters!

My big cousin John, who could walk faster than I could run

Was at war fighting a foreign someone.

The little white wooded church has gone

But the ghosts of conversations linger on.

John came home as a different man

Menaced by things we can never understand.