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A part of the cemetery
Set aside
And every gravestone reads
Beloved brother, child, wife
Died: 1918

Because it is the same as mine
I stop at a grave
No relative, just a common name
My forebears died another place
In 1918

This family died, one by one
The baby, the brother, the wife
Til only father was left to mourn
To place a flower or a stone
For fifty years til the time arrived
For him as well to come home

Plague Series #33
and the dverse prompt of 6/9/20: the dead back to life.
These graves are in a cemetery in Urbana IL and are how I found out about the 1918 pandemic flu, which I had never been taught about in school or anywhere else.

4 thoughts on “1918

  1. another great write! Its concise and snappy and that leads into the impact here
    “Til only father was left to mourn
    To place a flower or a stone
    For fifty years til the time arrived
    For him as well to come home”

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