Seven Laments for the War-Dead
1
Mr. Beringer, whose son
fell at the Canal that strangers dug
so shops could cross the desert,
crosses my path at Jaffa Gate.
He has grown very thin, has lost
the weight of his son.
That's why he floats so lightly in the alleys
and gets caught in my heart like little twigs
that drift away.
2
As a child he would mash his potatoes
to a golden mush.
And then you die.
A living child must be cleaned
when he comes home from playing.
But for a dead man
earth and sand are clear water, in which
his body goes on being bathed and purified
forever.
3
The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
across there. On the enemy's side. A good landmark
for gunners of the future.
Or the war monument in London
at Hyde Park Corner, decorated
like a magnificent cake: yet another solider
lifting head and rifle,
Copyright Credit: Yehuda Amichai, "Seven Laments for the War-Dead" from Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai (New York: Harper & Row, 1986)