A.Z. Foreman
At Loudon Hill
Beneath this slope, the hooves once struck the clay
and armored men advanced, assured of right.
They met a silence deeper than dismay,
a ditch, a hedge, a narrowing of sight.
No trumpets carried meaning past the rain,
no herald's claim could stiffen failing breath.
The sodden ground received them all the same:
An English push gave right of way to death.
And yet, what lingers here is not the cheer
of freedom, nor the legend's sharpened edge,
but rather how the air feels oddly clear,
how grass grows thick along the furrow's ledge.
What's left is not the clash, nor men's last cries,
but the good use the living make of lies.
Bio
A. Z. Foreman is a linguist, poet, short story author and/or translator pursuing a doctorate at the Ohio State University. His work has been featured in the Threepenny Review, Rattle, ANMLY, Poet Lore and elsewhere including two people's tattoos but not yet the Starfleet Academy Quarterly or Tattooine Monthly. He writes from the edge of thought between sleep and waking. He wants to pet your dog.