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1918
blasted through the ceiling in search of video cameras. The eleventh signer of the Treaty of Grenada had a spectacular smile. It was 1918 and dust was forming in our ears. I remember when soldiers carried backpacks up shaky mountains. A second republic was declared in the Maldives: Henry IV carved his name in all the pews in England. You signed for the Mayflower then pinned the constitution to my lapel. I remember when we ate macaroons under the dying light of the computer screen. The Midwest was still brand new. You continued to serve eggplant while Warren G. Harding played the bugle. You said: “It was cold in the Ukraine when my grandmother was born.” I agreed and we feasted in Flanders. And when the war ended you tipped your helmet in farewell and forfeited a golden ribbon.
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