Sketch 1: Nurse WWII
She was well-held,
her exacting white uniform
still warm from the iron
that made architecture out of waves.
He wore almost the same
well-executed style, but made green
to distinguish between soldier and nurse.
Her back hurt from the swift bend,
the upending of her lips to his.
This was no reunion bliss, his ship
had only just happened in her town.
A photographer shot them down
made their moment as strangers speak
for a lifetime of weak in the knees anticipation,
but she never even caught his name.