by Shannon R Eddy
Home is an eerie composite, here,
among the petrified; among the water
reflecting cut old growth upside down
retracting away from the saplings.
Stacked neatly in piles, spruced up
trimmings wait for their next telescope.
Will wilt among the slavery to be sold
on an ironically taxing free market.
Leaving only acorns their wake, the men
spray paint with forged rusting towers
to settle with the spirits uprooted who
will leave nowhere for the future to reap.
He was always direct, yet pensive-
Sure not to be-
the most offending soul alive,
I hesitate to ask,
“Give me ten words that you feel
when you think of war,”
I get the typical Kevlar silence, words break,
Trickle down his
glued tongue to…
His censorship is tantamount to sunlight,
He then moves onto weapons, their soldiers,
the humanity, whose land is… littered,
With airplanes, uniforms and blistered retinas,
Hiding his approbation of collusion between
schools of knowledge and control…
glued tongue to…
“I would do it again though” he says,
Maybe I should have asked for phrases,
Should I debauch his parapets of silence?
No, he has been to the sink for enough
Brother Not Forgotten
Awkward white, one cell call to a steely voice,
and so I ask him- for ten words on war,
“Can I answer in phrases?” he asks,
(I knew it.)
Taut volume crashes to “anxious anticipation,
like the big game glamorized by John Wayne,”
Airplanes- Twisted butterfly bellies, shaken-
asked “not to care,
but as an action,” Told,
do not sleep steeds;
war is curt to ashen eyes,
Culture sharks field screams, flight or flight,
An eye-patch for his morals
Know it is- not enough?
He then asks if I ever considered a tour,
I wanted to feel noble and say, “of course”
yet eddy in my “no”, he says numbingly,
“In my coping with the worst of humanity,
On both sides
I’ve realized two things,”-
One, you’re not missing much and two;
We will never forget them.
He seemed curious of my austere caution,
he asked if I was stoned when I left the message
on his voicemail to call,
“no” I replied, (I may have been)
I feel like a dreg; always answers duck
Affirmation of that hording yellow line,
“What do you expect me to say, logistics?”
“Nausea” he surrounds it with shock
with anger for the blood on the floor,
to be swept away when
the garbage cans were full.
Lost in silver linings, thinking aloud, to God,
“Where are you? Are you there?
Have you forgotten us already?”
Inside a tempest of knowledge and control
And justice for all… (Or was it power?)
Why must we saturate in inhumanity?
The planes, that dying soldiers’ chair or
his head in his nurses’ lap, breaking.
They share that memory in- between selves,
He says to sum up the most exhausted of souls