she didn't know where he was going,
how long he'd be gone,
only that she needed to wait
for his homecoming,
to watch for the letters he promised,
believing the sharp angina pains
stabbing her chest might
**** her during another long absence

he'd pick her up like she
weighed nothing,
willing herself to be lighter
so that he wouldn't put her down,
straddling her boney legs
around his waist,
inhaling the scent of Grey Flannel
evaporating off his soft skin

the mystery of where he went
every six months or so
was made insignificant,
"to work", as if it was just
a drive over the mountain
from Ft. Shafter instead of
some jungle Walter Cronkite
talked about on television

his letters came in red, white and blue
envelopes from APO's and HQ's,
pictures of dragons and snakes
drawn on the margins
doing nothing to alleviate
a seven year old's insecurities

then mother went to volunteer
at Tripler's burn ward
her small mind beginning
to comprehend he was in the
same place the "Uncle Sam Wants You"
signs wanted men

Walter called it the war in Vietnam
adult conversations she'd overheard
said it was big, but the sound of it
made her body shrink into a ball

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2014