Stains

A hedge of red and black cherry trees

lined the backyard.

There were more that fell to decay

than eaten or thrown

in mock battles.

Often consumption and conflict

met by the cherry trees.

Maybe a son-in-law

in the jungles

of Southeast Asia

kept my mother

from crying out

over a son's

cotton white tee-shirts

mottled by cherries

in some silly war

among the cherry trees.

The cherry war wounds

would wash away

by her loving hands;

but stains that could drive

a mother to tears

would never remove

the reality of war,

no matter how hard

she tried.

So, the battles

continued to rage

among the cherry trees

where pain and death

held no sway.

Dodging cherries

rather than bullets

would make any soldier

envious of that battlefield,

not to mention

a soldier's mother

dealing with the stains.