She never saw him again
after the deployment.
A special detail scraped up
what parts and pieces they could find,
put them in plastic bags,
sealed them in a regulation coffin.
They gave her a flag
but she did not see him
except in the night sweats
when he came to her
exploding hands and feet,
crushed skull,
lips she had kissed,
a heart which was hers,
disemboweled loins pressed to her loins,
rushing blood,
from which she awoke screaming
gasping for breath.
II.
By day she sang him away
to shield the children
who were awakened in the night
knowing her loss,
knowing their loss.
Image (c) 2010, Karla Dorman
Flesh of their flesh, bone
of their bone, connected:
did they know the instant
it happened? Was there
a flash of pain? Or did
they know something
was wrong? I have no
clue what it's like to lose
a child to war. But I smell
it in uniformed fear that
knocks at their door. I
feel it in the earth as it
shatters in an anguished
scream. I hear it as the
flag is triangled and
presented to the family. I
see it in the tears of 'Taps.'
I taste their loss. May I
never forget the ultimate
price for freedom paid ---
they lost a son or daughter.
I lost a brother or sister.
Karla, there is raw emotion flowing in every stanza and you captured the agony of the unimaginable loss. The casualties of war are wide ranging and the collateral losses go unexplored more often than not. A brave soldier died in battle, survived by his/her parents, wife/husband and two children. I bid you love and peace my dear friend. Jon Michael
So painful Karla and often they come home alive on the outside but dead on the inside, emotionless, lifeless, loveless not knowing who they really are anymore. My tears flow for them. This is a beautiful write though painful.
After a long awaited weekend visitation caused by false allegations of sexual abuse, Glen got to see his children for the first time in over two months. He promised them that they would never be apart again and then they disappeared.
Sepsis knocked her down and out. Faith, hope, and gave her the strength to get back on her feet. I am a Runner She fought the river of death They said she'd never run again
She proved them wrong...
For a time, I perched myself on a flat rock, comparing my life with the Guyandotte River. Just as its tributaries replenish it daily, changing it in some small—sometimes great—degree, so have the day-to-day occurrences of life changed me. Like the ri
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Newfie Hugs, Rose
(((HUGS))) and much love, your twin, Karen Lynn. :(
Very apropos for Memorial Day.
Ron