Hail and Farewell

1 Minute Read Time

atque in perpetuum, fr¯ater, av¯e atque val¯e.
          —Catullus

When it’s over, he wants to leave 
             without glasses raised together

at his going, no last salute or sir.
             I admit to gratitude.

I’ve never stood at ease in the uniform 
             stillness of those wives,

dependents as they’re known,
             the watered silk of their voices

at a ball, or the brides who bend 
             beneath an arch of sabers.

Although I understand the day
             must be lowered ceremoniously,

received into our hands. I understand 
             we fold these endings

with neat and pointed corners.
             Some parties welcome

new arrivals to command.
             Some parties are for parting—

they take their names from poems 
             of the dead. I’m glad he takes








nothing with him when it’s over,
             not the flowers, not the picture

of a little ship, how it floats forever
             in the matte-black frame of war.

Jehanne Dubrow

is the author of fifteen books, including most recently The Wounded Line: A Guide to Writing Poems of Trauma (University of New Mexico Press, 2025). Her next book of creative nonfiction, Frivolity: A Defense, is forthcoming from Columbia University Press later this year. Her poems and essays have appeared in numerous literary journals, including New England Review, Southern Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, and Ploughshares. She is a Professor of Creative Writing and a Distinguished Research Professor at the University of North Texas.

Return to top of page

Search