War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

Thursday, May 8, 2008 — Soldier Walk

M.,

Do you know I stopped. A second? Watched you walk. Away (again). Your gait. Head left, head right. Infantry. Hawk twitch stiff, scanned. Doorways sidewalks. Through car windows. Down Commercial Drive. For me. You faced north. The mountains.

From south, daffodils in gloved hand. I wore purple. And black. For you. Walked strides, the rainy sidewalk. Towards. My rhythm. Honed across mountains. Desert plain, 800 kms across Spain. Last year. Hoping to pace you. Out. One step at a time.

Last year I thought walk removed. Obliterates. But now. I know. Walk drives deep. Straight. Into ancient brain stem.

You wrote to me your shudder. How you grab for pack and gun. Hand grenade. When you see grape leaves. In a restaurant. Hear roman candles crack autumn. You have marched Afghanistan. The left the right. Of mud villages. The cess of wadis. Fields of grape vines. Radio’ed. Wired.

And now I write. Want to tell you. My shudder. When I see hazel. The colour of the civvies you wore. The colour of your eyes. Green temperate. Fawn tans. Desert CADPAT. Soft camo. On leave, your leather jacket, soft and black as the ink of your letters. Walked into me.

Soldier, that day on Commercial Drive, I saw. The back of you. Searching. Down the spring street. The crown of your head, sited into me. You turned. Half-curved a smile. Walked towards. My ungloved hands. Your naked face. Your skin soft. Your kiss, body straight. Pressed. Hard against, soft, flowers. Dropped. Their yellow burnt deep. Into wet ground.

S

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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.

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