War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

at last

Stealthly, imperceptibly stript back, thinning
night wraps

David Jones In Parenthesis

greenman, you. deep in country. up to the neck. in it. the dust. the grey storm. winter fires will not warm. any of us. here or there. until you’re home.

then words. your few. beamed across stratosphere. to where I sit. my cosy cafe. under raining hiss of lattes. under bored chats of long afternoons. my laptop

snapped to attention. I read. connect dots on FBook pics. piece you back together. between pixels. lines. long distance. my electronic sewing project.

greenman. 3rd tour. you own too many nights. too much stealth. over there.
your stare weeks before you left struggled. to soften.

you have slept open. too too often. grown far older. at 27. than all of us.
it’s time. (though months still to come) we hold breath. for you to make it

home. safe. half-whole. beautiful. to hear your Pashto collected like T-money plunder. soldier-bitch (so damn funny). to see you. one. smile. sleep sound. home.
again.



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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled at last. It was posted here on January 07, 2010.

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