Befuddled
by Jenn Blair
Standing at Appomattox peering at a
piece of hardtack under glass. I don’t know
how long to pause before moving to more
coats and rifles, what response would be
most respectful. So I try to picture the soldier
who saved it, carefully wrapping up his meal
for posterity in a piece of worn red cloth.
Or perhaps he just forgot it, there in his
haversack and months after he got home
he found the food, a stowaway there at
the bottom. I can almost hear his wife,
wondering out loud why he wasted it
and him ruefully smiling, then telling
her to have a bite. I imagine the field
where the wheat that composed the
floury notes still stands, full and golden
by a river. If rumor holds, this very square
may be left over from the Mexican war.
If only I could bypass the barrier, if only
I could hold this wafer up to the light
using one of its pinpoint holes
to peer through to the other side.