Our common era can tell
Who a person was.
Where he lived, what he died of.
But we become sloppy
& confused, crossed out.
Scribbled in borders—
It’s nearly impossible to track
Tragedy & turmoil.
We didn’t.
We buried people we knew.
We buried strangers.
A girl.
To take care of people
Was the decent thing to do.
We had a responsibility.
Scribbled at the bottom
The ‘girl,’
‘This girl was buried in the trench.’
This girl was our trench.
Where else to put her.**


**Erasure poem of an account by Donohue on his Family Ledgers.