Thank you. Today and every day. Arlington National Cemetery Section 60 A lone house-key, a melting Twix, two Miller Lites, a crucifix. A fifth of rum, a pack of Kools, report cards from Chicago schools. Four hard-backed books, a tear-stained poem, a cell phone programmed to call home. Three dozen letters never read, a pillow from a double bed. A Barbie doll, eight Lego cars, Nine lightening bugs in Mason Jars. Six polished stones, a strand of beads, a planter filled with apple seeds. Two coffee cups that catch the rain, five Red Sox caps, a plastic train. Eight birthday cards, a catcher's mitt, a sweater someone's mother knit. Four thousand pictures creased and torn. One wedding veil that won't be worn.