You’re standing with a “No war” sign as if indulging
the inevitable: this war can’t be stopped,
like bright arterial blood from an open wound
it flows till it kills,
Tag: <span>poem</span>
Far in the Champagne in midsummer green
where poppy bloom between grave crosses
the grasses whisper and sway gently
in the wind, that gently sweeps over the graveyard
After the tussle—or would you call it
a clash?—we stitch the torn uniforms
you men bring home.
Little needle, glint and glide …
When you clean your weapon
When time and again, you clean your weapon
When you rub strong-smelling oils into your weapon
And shield it from the rain with your own body
When you swaddle it like a baby
Even though you’ve never swaddled a baby before —
You’re only nineteen, no baby, no wife —
The weapon becomes your only kin
You and the weapon are one.
He is risen, who lay long asleep,
Risen again from caverns deep.
In the twilight, the towers, huge and unknown,
And with one black hand, he crushes the moon.
My dog is gone, yet he is still here
watching me cry, making me smile.
He joined the other ghosts
and there are many -and more to come.
The man working window eleven
at the DMV wears his name around his neck
like a medal won in a war
he never signed up for. Even from here,
Don’t be fooled by me.
Don’t be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I’m afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.
You feel like you’re not making any progress like you’re moving on brittle ice.
Step by step. Week after week.
This is not my first rodeo, nor will it be the last, but perhaps one of the hardest. After seventeen years, we will go for a ride to the Veterinarians’ office tomorrow, and we will come back home alone. My friend, the wonderful, crazy, mischievous, loyal, breakout artist, will not be with us anymore, and just thinking about it hurts. The pain only love can create. I can feel tears building up, and quickly I remind myself how lucky we have been to have him for so long.