After the War--The Journals

In which we lose much

Day 14

6am

I woke this morning thinking about poetry of all things. In particular, Robert Frost’s poem, “Nothing Gold Can Stay” For some reason, it seems appropriate on a multitude of levels. It is spring, literally in the seasonal sense. We are now in the spring of a new world, coming out of winter/war. I thin I remember it all...

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

I wonder if the US’s days of being golden are forever over….I wonder if we can again be gold or golden. I want things to be good and right again. I wonder if John or Doc has ever read this poem. I wonder if they did or would, or maybe, could understand it.

5pm

Another day of increasing longer watches as there are fewer of us to maintain the watch. Well, fewer of us actually doing it. The ‘golden’ (!) ones do not have to do guard duty. They have more important things to do. Some, like Lilac, really can’t. More and more are coming to the gates. We patrol in pairs now. Duncan and I had the day watch, 8 hours. Gave us plenty of opportunity to talk. Kept us from doing much more than supposing things or hypothetically working through different scenarios. Lilac brought us out some food and water and stayed to talk and walk with us a while. Beautiful and warm spring day, all golden….


Church tonight.

8:45pm

Steve died during the church service tonight. Matt never missed a beat, but instead, kept waxing onward about duty and following true to ‘God’s New Laws’. New testaments or commandments in the making? Not even a prayer for Steve. After church, Duncan said he and I have watch again all day tomorrow. I don’t mind it too much with him. He said he needed to talk to me about something. We don’t talk much around the others. Brittany moved upstairs tonight. She will be staying in Lanie’s room.

Except for church, I never really had any contact with the others today. I feel as if we, the ones in the basement, are considered a lower order and not worth much. I don’t even know what is going on upstairs. I think they think I can’t write down what I don’t know.
Duncan and I are going to open our last pack of cigarettes in a moment. Smoking is becoming something like dessert or a special treat.


*******