War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Rawa Tander

days have passed. no email. no call. since last. your words. your voice. anything. and now I know why. Rawa Tander. rolling thunder.

pg A18 (they can’t even put it on the front page any more. not even when you die.the bastards). it’s somewhere between maxime bernier’s biker chick and margaret boring wente.

Pashmul. AK-47s. rocket-propelled grenade. launchers. suicide bomber (s). Hellfire missiles. (did the americans bomb the right guys this time M.?)

and you were there weren’t you? C Company. doing your job. you’ve trained for. all these years. loving. every. minute.

fighting season. just like the NHL playoffs. your teams. fresh-pressed rookies. old men. and you. sharp point of spear. infantryman.

while we’re left here. drinking beer. trying not to think about it. we pack camping gear. burn steaks on bbqs. try not to look out the window. to see who’s coming to the door.

J. told me about you getting DAGged. inoculations. social workers. filling out your lastwill and testament.

J. says it’s pretty weird seeing 18 year olds list their worldly possessions. as if anyone could give a shit about their PS2s. when they’re no longer here.

J. says your wife asked for J. to be the one. to come with the padre. your CO. he told me the preschool’s got it down. to a fine art. what to do with the kids.

I asked J. not to be the one. I don’t want to shake. every time he calls. txts. emails. knocks on my door. and anyway, I said to him.

(o M., love, my love. you must know this. by now.) I don’t need anyone. to tell me.

I’ll already.




Welcome to MayDay

MayDay is a series of letters in prose, poem, txt, email, of a young woman to her infantryman lover serving in Afghanistan.

RSS Feeds