No news is good news,
Or so they say,
But what of my wandering mind?

Who can be sure of anything
In this chaotic world,
Without a hint of information?

Try as I might,
I cannot quiet the fears
That taunt me at night.

“He’s probably dead,
Not a soul could have weathered
That terrible morning, for sure…”

Your new job would be
In an exotic land, you said,
An island in the sparkling blue sea.

You brought me there, once,
To see your ship,
Though I’m sure it’s just scrap by now.

I pray you’ll return,
For the children and I
Miss you,
As I write to Pearl Harbor
With love.