Greeks and Trojans fought to the death.
Vicious nasty battles on the Aegean,
Broken bones, bloody wounds, shouts of pain.
Those wars are remembered in smooth white marble.
Simple stories with a nice clean arc.
Memory protects us, clears the ugliness, trims the thorns of trauma.
What it felt like to fall, the pain of the bone break, the struggle to stay alive,
somehow we only remember the outlines.
A memorial is dedicated in New York to the plague years. It was.
A bad time, too many ambulances in the night, too many people we never knew.
Idealized pure lines, simple and grand.
The pain barely shows through.