Wish You Were Here Poem by Dale M. Holsopple

The memory of that day is scarred into my brain like the burns on my face. Night after night the nightmare plays over and over. As I pour over snapshots in the family album I wish they were here still, my parents. The night that both of them died is a night that I will remember until I take my last breath. I fear that will be soon, so let me share with you the night that I have talked with no one about in my long life.

It was a chilly May evening; my father was coming home from Germany where his job had taken him. I had never seen a Zeppelin before and my mother took me to meet my father when he got home. The night was a disaster that would be immortalized by a radio broadcast. My mind has hid the movement of the Zeppelin from me, how it crashed to the ground, there are only four images that remain in my mind to this day. I will share them with you now, if you will listen to an old man.

It was a cool evening; my mother’s fur coat was a tan color that contrasted with her new-moon hair. The sky was brilliant that night, the stars seemed to shine for my father who was coming home, each one of them just looking down at me and waving, wishing me luck as I saw my father for the first time in my ten years of existence. The Zeppelin is close to setting down, and in my stomach is a tumbling and turning as I await a man I had only seen photos of. The giant silver bullet hanging in the air, with its name written on the side “Hindenburg” in huge black letters that I could barely see in the fading light. My breath is out in front of my face, making the whole scene foggy and clouded, as if looking through a dusty pane of glass.

The next scene is of the flames, brilliant orange and angry red leaping from the silver body of this great flying beast. Something went horribly wrong. My breath is caught in my throat, so I can see this image clear as if it was happening again before my eyes. The fire, lighting up my mother’s hair it was so horribly and beautifully high. The look in her eyes was one of fear, as mine indeed had to have mirrored. People had started running, but in my memory they are frozen, some racing towards the burning Zeppelin and some dashing away from it, afraid for their lives.

The giant airship has fallen, and is now laying in a flaming heap on the ground. Somehow my mother and I moved very close to the ruby and citrine flames. Well, I was close, in my mind I can see my mother tossing herself into the flames, trying to reach my father who she had not seen in just under eleven years. Her raven hair catching fire as her coat nearly melted as the fire engulfed it so quickly. In this scene I can hear one thing, two screams, one high pitched I know belongs to my mother, and a second deeper, I assume it’s my father although I’ve never heard him before.

The Hindenburg is no longer on fire, now it is laying on the chilly ground in a twisted heap of molten aluminum and blackened steel. I was standing too close, my body was protected by the thick coat I was wearing but my face was exposed and I can feel the nearly charred skin crack and sting as I weep for my lost family. There is nothing left of them but charred bones and two golden rings that had nearly melted in the intense heat of the beautifully horrific flame. I had those rings melted down and I wear them around my right ring finger, the only thing my mother and father ever left me. Mother, Father, I wish you were here.