After The Formation

THE XXII

They say twenty-two a day.

A number we fold and put in our pocket

until it becomes a name.

Twenty-two empty chairs.

Twenty-two boots that never hit the floor.

Twenty-two flags that never made it home.

Not on the battlefield.

Not in the briefing.

But after

after the formation,

after the uniform comes off,

after the world goes quiet.

We were taught to carry the weight.

To never leave a fallen comrade.

To push through the pain.

But no one taught us how to ask for help.

No one taught us how to say,

“I’m not okay.”

So we check the news.

We check the obituary.

We check our phones for a text we missed.

Twenty-two is not a statistic.

It’s your brother.

It’s your sister.

It’s the one who had your six.

We can’t bring back the twenty-two.

But we can break the silence that took them.

So call.

Text.

Show up.

Sit in the quiet with them.

There is one in your formation still.

the one we still have time to save.