War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


yesterday will take a long time to comprehend. to be allowed to hold a grieving mother. to witness bringing her beloved son home. his father. his brother.

to witness the grace and sincerity of Michaëlle Jean as she spoke to the family. then see her speak to the troops that brought young Mickey home. she thanked me for my work. but I am no one, not quite sure how/why I should be present at this grief that is so private and public at once.

I stood, my arm around the waist of a woman whose courage helps to keep me going. her husband still out there in the desert. he’ll be the last one out.

as war artists I believe that we try to voice everyman. and with this tightrope notebook (of thoughts, fragments, wanderings, words strung together so damned inadequately… but I promised to be as real time as possible) I try to say, country, beloved country. wake up. there are people willing to step up, give everything for something that is greater. their mothers and fathers, their brothers, sisters, wives, lovers step up too.

my daughter stepped up. she steps up. only 13. her little voice on the other end of the telephone so god damn brave. and Lynda drawing the bubble bath for her. giving her the peaceful place. my daughter allowing another world to share her mother. my daughter proud but missing me.

yesterday after the repat I sat beside a lake. drank good whisky, smoked a cigar (a pleasure I picked up at Banff and continued to enjoy with the army).

this morning, I taste it still. peat, smoke, the blue sky, good conversation. the green grassy hill.


ah yes, though, I just discovered. greenman is out. alive.

1 Comment (Closed)


Thanks for sharing this – stay strong….

May 17 2010 · 06:56

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled kingston/Repatriation/Trenton. It was posted here on May 17, 2010.


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