by Shawn Allen

A memory, from a longer work in progress.

I remember a parade,
Tho’ not the kind with trumpets
And colored balloons and crepe paper;
No, this parade was a slow train
Carrying a draped box
While an entire country of people
Lined the tracks
And the boulevards
And wept.
I remember the images
Hushed and monochrome.
I was six years old
And didn’t understand.