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Array
(
[sid] => 19035
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => WELCOME HOME
[time] => 2003-06-14 22:35:00
[hometext] => I wrote this poem on Veteran's Day 1989, on the airplane after my first visit to the Vietnam Memorial Wall.
[bodytext] => WELCOME HOME Bewilderment detachment; solemnly praying, Ceremonial Presidential Wreath's a-laying. Arlington National Cemetery, Tomb of the Unknown, Honoring the loss of Americans we bemoan. Taps painfully playing; hearing a solitary bugle, Accompanying the rat ta tat tat; the drum so regal. Cascading tears bathing my flushed cheek, The longer I stand, the more I’m growing weak. Jo, a Vietnam Memorial Wall volunteer, Recognizing the familiar gleam of fear, Offering help up that emotional climb, "Some vets don't make it their first time." Pausing beside a letter, set against cool black marble, Words piercing my heart like pieces of shrapnel. A dispatch from Jo, to her husband Bill, The message passionate: my body expels a chill. Reflections casting shadows over Bill's name, On the polished granite self proclaimed. We are weighing the wounds of war, Comforting each other, and too many before. Jo, Whispering, "Welcome home," without pretense. Feelings welling inside me with vengeance. Moving, moving without belonging: needing to roam, Two decades passing; maybe now coming home. Fourteen months of duty, then 20 years shutdown, Jo hugging tightly: our tears kissing the ground. Tracing significant names for many a veteran friend, Too few years left; too much to mend. A silver POW/MIA bracelet placed on my wrist, "I've never taken this off," exclaims Jo in earnest. Col. Robert L. Standerwick Sr., the bracelet proclaims, On the Wall a diamond, the uncertainty of his remains. Pacing a moonlit path, painfully alone, Endless names bathed in light: etched forever in stone. Haunting Vietnam memories revived, Endless names survive. Emerging from a deathlike dream, Eerie consciousness in an audible stream. An unforgettable song latched in time and space, "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place." Feeling drawn to a crying woman looking askew, Tearing a piece of my last dry tissue. Sharing a tender offering, Each new song reviving memories of warring. This woman expressing calm enlightenment, Hugging me with abandonment. Tears mingling in loving suction, A reprieve of war's self destruction. A hand from behind grabs my shoulder, I know the reach; it's from a former soldier. Reminding me when life was bloody. He calls out, "Welcome home buddy." An unplanned march to the Laotian Embassy, Protesting the POW/MIA conspiracy. Needing to go: not certain how or why, Must go for those names that will not die. Faces painted symbolically white, Carrying burning candles of spiritual light. Singing fervent songs and chanting, Embassy personnel: concealed--not recanting. Waiting to hear from Lynn, a hush in the air, Protesters listening with rapt attention. Sharing of her father's loss in Laos while flying, Shear strength keeps her from crying. Speech over, Lynn now sitting silently, Near the steps of the Laotian Embassy. Pushing past the Washington police, I'm sitting beside her now, near release. Illuminating the bracelet drawn by dim light of her candle, Staring into each others eyes, more than either can handle. Name on the Bracelet...that of her father, An hour and then--embracing each other. Back at the Wall of war; seeking a touch of peace. Nearly one a.m.; will this dream ever cease? Time that unforgiving nemesis, Oh God! Release the genesis. Three A.M. and God forsaken, Writing a grieving letter--twenty years and still so shaken. Pinning it on the Wall with a twig, wet and broken, The message is deep, the gesture....a token. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 343 [topic] => 31 [informant] => wordsmith [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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