War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

flight

for Sgt. S, recce, with gratitude



In KAF my head filled certain of death,
brilliant poppies, white phosphorus over desert.
cowardly I fed on Wednesday sirens, bunkers, dust,
blast walls, HumVees BF you-alls. I fed on rocket attack.
But you J, just in from a 20 k stroll, your eyes ringed
with fatigue refused to let me fall down, to fail,
talked me from my injury and betrayal.
I manned up, kitted flew over Afghanistan,
wadis, mud villages, black Kuchi tents,
I saw red desert, pomegranate, mulberries,
children waved at me, our Chinooks shimmered
above blue Chevy pickups, RPG speed below,
perfect arcs to kill us. 45 minute ride in slo mo.
Now J, it’s my turn to talk you back, a flight waits,
an ocean, tall, tall trees, green B.C., your son.
The freedom bird, your Herc comes, soon to fly you home.





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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled flight. It was posted here on March 29, 2010.

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