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[whitereflection]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_Veterans_Memorial



Monuments

The last time they did a hunt in D.C.,
they visited The Wall
because it was Memorial Day
and they were thinking about their father
though neither of them said so out loud.
They stood in front of the monument,
flat and black and reflecting their faces
as if they were looking into a lake at midnight,
and Sam reached out to brush his fingers
over the cool gabbro stone.
"There's names on mine, too,"
he said. "Everyone's names.
They're all there."
Nearby, a tour group chattered about
mindless things as
Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist.
They stared at each other silently;
Dean didn't say
Don't scratch, Sam
and Sam didn't say
I won't, Dean, I won't
but the words were there anyway.
A few feet away, a middle-aged woman
held a sheet of paper up to the surface of the Wall,
rubbed it with a crayon
until she had a name to carry away with her.
Sam let his hand drop to his side, but
Dean didn't let go of his wrist;
he held on,
held on.