Christina A. Sharik

IN THE SPRING…

ALTThe small soldier hides
behind a boulder of rock
carrying small arms
careful not to talk
lest his position be given away
he hides, still as stone
but he doesn’t pray.
A small nurse is waiting
in a green plastic tent
in case the wee soldier’s wounded
his green body rent
with injuries inflicted
by other small men
He’s been fighting a long time
since summer, it’s been.
When it starts snowing
his General goes home
leaving him and the others
behind Boulders of stone
and the small soldier waits
and the nurse waits, as well
[All things are relative;
They’ve been through small Hell.]
The snowstorms creep over
their boulders and moss
they don’t feel the cold
and they don’t feel the loss
But they stay in position
and wait out the storm
and suddenly, one day
it starts to get warm.
The General is back!
He’s looking about
They wish they could speak
they wish they could call out
But they remain silent
and watchful, as always –
still, in position,
these many long days
……
for they are Toy Soldiers
and the General’s my son…
and soon he’ll be serving
with his own pack and gun
hidden near warm boulders,
or smothered in snow……
just like his toy soldiers
from long, long ago.