Dead Man Flags or
Mourning The Loss Of Babyhood
This morning I woke up to coffee
and you, a shirt-tugging three today.
We sat on the couch eating different
breakfasts, thinking apart. Wasn't it
just yesterday I held you horizontal,
soft head in the bend of my arm? And
last week when I went to reach for a
glass, you asked about the boo-boo's
that I explained were there from when
you grew inside my tummy.
-Way out to here I showed with a
rounded hand as you ran your fingers
up the shiny marks.
Will they get better? you asked.
Somewhere between Chuckie Cheese and
birthday cake we ended up in a field
of 10,000 dead man flags. You ran
faster than we could walk, pulling
us into your wonder.
Bit lip of country, my secrets,
right here. Mourning the loss
of your babyhood, the fading of
needs. Comprehension.
Of men who in generations from
now may not have anyone that
cares enough to
carry their names on a wall
from state to state.
I can't explain why I brought
you here today or what this
even is. Maybe never.
The meaning of life, death
and anything worth giving
a shit about is coming,
in the breath
of your mouth
to flame of the candles.
Michelle M. Buchanan August 26, 2006
Eldridge Park
Vietnam Memorial
August 26, 2006
8 comments:
That's just a beautiful poem, Michelle. So deeply quietly touching and beautiful.
Lyle, thank you. That really means a lot coming from you. I'm at a point right now where I don't even know why I write, if there is a purpose. I stopped submitting and just write.
When I stepped up on the walk to go down the wall the emotions that hit me were very overwhelming. It was so unexpected. I had to hold back the tears. I was there with no family member or friend to look for, no ones name to trace onto a paper, no flower to leave.
Everything in life is so connected I guess.
I've never been to the Vietnam memorial wall in Washington, though I do want to, someday, sooner or later.
A smaller, or I guess I should say more localized, version of the wall is on the grounds in front of the Minnesota state capitol in St. Paul, which I found once almost by accident. I also was almost overwhelmed, I can't imagine how much I would be at the wall in Washington, looking at all the names.
The war in Vietnam was going on when I was in grade school, junior high, high school, and after -- I was 20 when Saigon surrendered in 1975. I took part in lots of protests against the war. Like most people my age in the United States, it changed my life in ways I'll probably spend my whole life trying to express.
Sooner or later I really want to go to the wall in Washington, to see it for myself.
Good to see you posting Michelle! I have never been to the wall either, but there is a monument for the soldiers of war for our city in the downtown square, and I get emotional when I look at it. Those men (and women, in some cases) were fathers and brothers and uncles and husbands and sons, and I think that is what makes it so universal. I know that seeing it and realizing that under certain circumstances my husbands name could have been listed there impacted me profoundly.
I also think the ravaged souls that returned from vietnam make it all the more personal. I have a friend whose life is never going to be the the way it once was because of the things he saw there. It makes me wonder if we are doing the same thing to the men and women fighting in Iraq right now. It breaks my heart that some don't see any other answer but war.
Dead man flags. I like that. It really says it.
We all lose our innocence sooner or later.
I'm Alan King, a writer living in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. I have a chapbook Transfer that I hope will consider reviewing or mentioning in your blog. Writing samples are available at http://myspace.com/alanking81 and http://myspace.com/bustransfer.
If after reading the samples you are interested in reviewing Transfer, please provide a mailing address for me to send a copy.
Thank you in advance. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Until then,
Alan.
my email is nyckencole@hotmail.com
THE WALL
There's a wall of marble
Five hundred feet long
Ten feet high, scribed with names
Of those who died, the strong.
There's more than fifty-eight thousand
Etched upon that stone
Most of them died so young
This life, they've never known.
It's such a small tribute
To those who fought our war
Such a small price we pay
To those who gave much more.
Their name carved in a rock
That most of us won't read
Not near enough praise to give
For their most gracious deed.
Seems there's too many of us
Who don't really seem to care
That we stayed home secure and safe
While they died over there.
Remember when you see that Wall
With all those initials and names
That those men were only pawns
In one more of those deadly games.
Let's hope what they gave had meaning
And that peace will always reign -
That we won't have to send our young
To fight and die again.
THE VIETNAM VET
It's a very unique club
I see it everywhere
I see man embracing man
A tear that says, "I care!".
There's a special look in eyes
That words cannot explain
I see joy for this life
Sometimes the living pain.
There's a camaraderie
That's very rare these days
They let it show without shame
In so many different ways.
I wasn't there, (thank the Lord.)
So I can't really know
I can only sense and feel
Those things which I see show.
The patience, understanding
Which only they can feel
There is something very special
And something very real.
WHO'DA THOUGHT IT?
A man with one leg
Another, crippled, bent
Should remind us what it costs -
And just how much was "spent"
Not in dollars and sense(?)
But in lives and misery
Things those of us safe at home
Didn't want to see
We watched it on the "tube"
Just like it was some John Wayne show
And how lucky we were
We will never, ever know
We sat in our easy chairs
Sipping a cold beer
Switching channels, war to football
So we could root and cheer
For our favorite teams
(Some games we won't forget)
But easily pushed from our minds
Was the Vietnam War Vet
It's a little better now
Some are starting to care
Trying to understand
Problems brought home from there
It was a different war
Just ask those who fought it
You might learn about some things
And say, "I'da never thought it."
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
They went across the ocean
To fight in that Asian war -
On behalf of freedom, justice
For peoples of that foreign shore.
More than fifty-eight thousand men
Faced wars' reality
Bravely sacrificed their lives
So that others might be free.
Most of them were very young -
And now, it seems such a waste
That war accomplished nothing
And has left a bitter taste.
Those who did survive came home
To a country which turned away
We didn't know how to greet them
We didn't know what to say.
They came home to a nation
That said it didn't care
Said it didn't want to know about
What went on over there.
The tide is finally turning
Don't you think it's about time
We gave some praise to all of those
Who laid their life on the line?
Del "Abe" Jones
abeabe@bellsouth.net
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