Mar 2018
bet these cowboy boots
suit you better than
the combat pair you spent
three years marching in
so don't you even
think about running
this isn't the jungle, buddy
just another tobacco field
and those aren't bombs
only fireworks
and they're up there
for you
since you shed that
olive outfit
i've spent every moment
trying to remember you
trying to relearn you
dying to relieve you from
whatever keeps you gone
and out here on the porch
crumpled between the
rusted water heater
busted rototiller
and every broken lightbulb
awaiting the dump
rocking like a lullaby
before the nightmare comes
and i know
you haven't closed those pretty eyes
in months
but buddy,
i'll be right here
when you wake up
suit you better than
the combat pair you spent
three years marching in
so don't you even
think about running
this isn't the jungle, buddy
just another tobacco field
and those aren't bombs
only fireworks
and they're up there
for you
since you shed that
olive outfit
i've spent every moment
trying to remember you
trying to relearn you
dying to relieve you from
whatever keeps you gone
and out here on the porch
crumpled between the
rusted water heater
busted rototiller
and every broken lightbulb
awaiting the dump
rocking like a lullaby
before the nightmare comes
and i know
you haven't closed those pretty eyes
in months
but buddy,
i'll be right here
when you wake up
my only sibling is considering joining the marine corps come summertime. reflecting on how fortunate my little brother is to have the choice to stay home or enlist, it was put on my heart to write a poem from the perspective of a girl who's brother was not given that choice, but was drafted into the vietnam war. the result is this scratch-on-the-surface tribute to young soliders who returned in ruins from a war they did not choose to fight in, and the pain behind their hopeful (but ultimately helpless) kin.
