Bear, would you like to see my purple heart?

Terrified, I followed Uncle Eddie up the stairs,

expecting to see — God knows, what hideous thing,

what awful hidden wound from the Great War.

He led me back into his dark bedroom —

shuttered, it had the feeling of a tomb,

where by his dresser, crouching on the floor,

he knelt and sliding out the bottom drawer

in silence, lifted out a small sealed box,

the way a priest removes the sacrament at Mass;

then opening the clasp for me to see,

too reverent for me to touch or anyone,

I saw with my child’s terror overcome

inside: the ribboned face of Washington.