Clusters Boys dream of eating scuppernongs. Peeling back layers so that soft tangy flesh floats on the tip of the tongue.
Boys grow larger.
Thinking of wet lips tasting first fruit reminds of scuppernong wine and its intoxication. You were a god among boys, Tommy. We battled against an invisible enemy, clay caking us like blood. Your father's medals sparkling on your army jacket, the collapsible shovel, the boots, the compass, the canteen, you had all we were in awe of as you led the charge. Polished brass and smooth cool wood have brought you back perfect and shining to me, as we carry you, not on our shoulders, but slung low.