War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

2nd year (grief redux)

here it is, again,
dull dust of snow,
coffin-lid sky,

bed unmade,
hair uncombed,
dishes unwashed, undried;

number 98, 99, 100,
silent, thud of each
electronic RPG dyed

into the heart of me,
I thought safe at last,
inside the wire, inside

HESCOs of brothers,
sister, daughter, friend,
on love’s cane relied;

yet here it is, again, mock
progress through mine-fields,
where IEDs of grief lie,

and Christmas, two weeks away,
so drunk, teetering, tarnished,
its carols slur, stalk me now. They lie.

They lie. They lie.

2 Comments (Closed)


S, just a personal observation, but I would feel safer inside the ‘compound’ of my life, as the ‘wire’ conjours up a vision of openness, visibility, transparency, call it what you will, but not a place you could hide, take shelter and feel safe..Three line stanzas are a good idea alluding to the rapid breathing associated with fear. All in all, bl**dy good, so don’t listen to me!

Dec 08 2008 · 11:32


Hebridean, yes, I see your point, but I’m of course thinking of “inside the wire,” i.e., inside someplace safe like KAF (Kandahar Air Field).. a fortress, guarded, protected, safe (relatively) etc…

good point about the transparency though… I shall think on it

as always, grateful for comments, suggestions

Dec 08 2008 · 12:39

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled 2nd year (grief redux). It was posted here on December 08, 2008.


Complete diary archive