Reflections from Pearl Harbor
This page features creative works inspired by visits to Pearl Harbor. Through art, writing, and other forms of expression, creators of all ages share their personal reflections, emotions, and connections to this historic place.
Harbor of Memory and Grace: A Visit Remembered
The harbor lies
like quiet glass,
a sunlit mirror
that forgets the fire.
I step upon the monument,
straddling the Arizona’s sunken bones,
and feel the weight
of eighty-four years
folded into its stillness.
On shore, Ranger Phil spoke,
each word a steady brush
across the canvas of flame and courage.
When he learned my father’s story,
he shifted his talk,
showing the attack
from the Vestal’s view—
how my father would have watched
the Japanese assault that fateful day.
I felt his kindness,
his care for memory,
his honor for the men
whose stories endure.
Dad’s captain, Cassin Young,
swept overboard in the blast,
rose again, and with his men
through smoke and ruin
beached the Vestal in the channel,
then returned to rescue the trapped,
repairing others’ ships
while tending their own.
Steel bent, fire roared,
men trembled—
courage held.
Each moment woven
into a tapestry of endurance.
I was grateful,
for honor shown my father,
for history made vivid,
for courage breathed into detail.
Upon the monument,
a second ranger listened,
younger yet attentive and gentle,
gathering fragments of the past.
He asked of my father,
and when I spoke,
brought out maps and notes,
showing the Vestal’s course,
the damage endured,
enemy planes in motion,
the Arizona, inboard,
burning beside her.
Upon the monument,
a second ranger listened,
younger yet attentive and gentle,
gathering fragments of the past.
He asked of my father,
and when I spoke,
brought out maps and notes,
showing the Vestal’s course,
the damage endured,
enemy planes in motion,
the Arizona, inboard,
burning beside her.
I walked the memorial’s deck,
hands brushing cold railings,
letting past and present
fold together,
grief and awe mingling
like tide upon tide.
Voices that lived
and died in fire
echoed around me—
voices I could not answer,
yet carried in silence.
I seemed to see my father there—
ship aflame yet afloat.
Fear pressed upon him,
yet courage rose above each blast.
Smoke and heat roared,
metal groaned and twisted,
the sea churned with fire and debris,
yet he moved with purpose—
each step, each action
a testament
to endurance and faith
amid the chaos.
In that moment,
I felt him near,
his stories flowing back in waves,
each tale a seed that shaped him,
each recollection a gift
that still shapes me.
Pride swelled within my chest,
greater than in all my seventy-two years,
and my soul rose in gratitude to God,
who preserved my father
while thousands perished,
who granted him life, family,
and a witness to endure.
Afterward, the ranger walked me back to the boat,
paused to take my picture
where the Vestal had been moored—
a quiet act of remembrance and honor,
as Ranger Phil had done on shore.
The harbor is serene—
boats drift slowly,
mountains rise, patient and green,
their slopes a riot of palms and ferns,
bright hibiscus and glistening leaves,
valleys deep with shadow,
waves whispering secrets to the sky,
gulls calling across sunlit blue.
Peace has returned,
yet memory ripples beneath the water,
in every steel rib,
every name etched in stone.
I leave with hands empty,
yet heart full,
bearing a quiet torch of remembrance,
watching the harbor shimmer,
listening to the hush beneath the light,
a hymn to courage,
to sacrifice,
to fathers, to sons,
and to the mercy of God
that grants us grace
to walk among the living,
hands and heart held full,
memory entwined with grace.