They soared, a flock of birds, 
dark wings blackening the sky,
squawking “Tora, Tora, Tora,”
unafraid of sleeping giants.

Just as black hawks swoop
toward prey from great heights,
torpedoes rained from planes,
bombarding every ship in port.

Bits and pieces of vessels,
like shards of broken pottery,
flew through billowing smoke
as alarms sounded too late               

and twenty-four hundred sailors 
were trapped or blown overboard,
suffocated below deck or 
in water colored with flames.

Those of us born that year
rocked in the safety of arms,
but the Oklahoma capsized,
its death saving the Maryland.

We listened to the bluebirds sing
as anxious mothers read us fairy tales,
while the Arizona and the Utah
sank in the harbor, taking us to war.