They were so young and
no one really knew them
before they
fell.
Every now and again
bones of remains
find their way to the surface
in some raggedy
field in France
or Turkey.
They DNA test,
pick through leftovers
hiding in a ribcage –
dog tags
and old photographs,
still found in remarkable
condition.
They contact any last
known relatives,
mark a grave and
plant flowers to
remember a time that
refuses to
die.
*
It was all just government
sanctioned genocide,
on both sides.
Lest We Forget.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Poetry Out West 
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