The Men of Omaha Beach

The men of Omaha grow old and die,
Their mem­o­ries as dead com­rades’ faces
Washed and worn away in the Chan­nel tide.

Picked up in a lit­ter, the bit­ter bread
Of the rat­tle of the guns on the shore,
Sur­feit of last sec­onds and prayers half said.

The men of Omaha grow old to treat
Taut silence stretched on the ribs of the dead,
Rid­ing out on the shoul­ders of the sea.





Ste­fan Kamin­ski has pub­lished poems in the Sar­ma­t­ian Review and is work­ing on a novel.