War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


I cannot tell you who he is. I cannot tell you what he does. I cannot tell you where he’s been. nor where he lives. nor what he says.

but I can tell you, again, how this soldier with tree trunk biceps, a tattoo that says it’s not what I am inside it’s what I do that defines, a softly accented voice, a face like an angel’s, offered me his hand as our Herk banked hard for a tactical landing into KAF last year and I grabbed it. we held hands so tight we could feel our pulses through his leather gloves.

and he has contacted me a year later and says that at last he’s found me he wants to tell me that he thought I was courageous. and that anyone who isn’t afraid to go to Afghanistan is a fool. and that my hand meant something to him too.

our shared humanity.

that flight into KAF was more than tough. 14 grieving next of kin sat up front. the back of the Herk was filled with men and women silent as they headed into the war zone, spooked by the next of kin. I was afraid not for myself but for my daughter at home should anything happen to me.

and I didn’t know his name. but what I did know was that he’d do anything to reassure me. keep me alive if anything went wrong. he gave me courage.

he was there for me. at just the right time.

1 Comment (Closed)

Michael Gravel

“it’s not what I am inside it’s what I do that defines”. I think those words should be emblazoned on everyone’s body. Fuck “who you are on the inside”. It’s what you DO that matters.

Oct 15 2010 · 09:29

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled contact. It was posted here on October 15, 2010.


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