War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

little corner of england (27)

after war Dartmoor. he leaves behind the whistle of desert wind against helmets. the cranky crackle of a radio net. he leaves behind stinking boots. socks rotten from oversweat, overuse. incinerated in garbage barrels somewhere inside the wire. burnt with all those lonely heart letters tucked into envelopes and stashed unread in the lounge at KAF. I’m 36. I will love you soldier women write from Birmingham, from tiny villages in Yorkshire, from around the world. enclose photos. this is their war work they say. doing my bit. but really what they want. or think they want. is a hero. buff and tattoo’d. have no idea what it means to constantly say goodbye. to constantly lose.

after war Dartmoor. the singing of wind against ancient shell-pink ears, high above. balancing against gales on the Tors. hoodoo stone. pony track. the ancient salt-seller way. pushing the thick hescoe that encases tight his brain. away. away.

the mountains of the world. an ascent. climb to heaven soldier. one step at a time. like Mallory. snow blind. ice blind. war blind. scale rock and ice. these little moors are a beginning.

and an end.

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled little corner of england (27). It was posted here on November 03, 2012.


Complete diary archive