War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


big man, I mean really big man,
the kind with muscles that wrap
his torso like an anaconda,
is falling, falling,
like an ancient sequoia
heavy into the swamp;

it’s a terrible thing,
I heard the first crack,
tear, his roots rip from the earth,
his listing, the leaning of his massive trunk,
I held/hold him like all good fire team partners should,
steady, steady, leaned into him,
arms around his waist,
I didn’t fail, not one day
(though he weighs twice as much as I)

I watched him hit hard,
heard the man crack, deserted
by the worst kind of deserter,
the one who should have held fast,
kept the ground solid and all that,

I watched him fall,
branches pulled back,
tattoo’d arms splayed.

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled fall. It was posted here on May 08, 2011.


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