D-Day Approaching

A Poem

 

(It’ll be magnificent.)

It’s been a week and a half since I’ve even looked at my novel.

I just reread a little, just this minute ago.

(It’ll be magnificent.)

But this is what I do—I fall back in love with it.  (It IS worth it

and I DO love it!)

The important thing is

I’ve breached my mind’s fortress; I’ve

broken through.

Bombardments from planes and ships

(and men stumbling onto the beaches,

dizzy from fear or exhaustion or pain or death or all) will

attack

this, my great, sad wound, cut through it like a scab.

Let the puss and blood mix!

Let it dry and curdle

and harden, again!

Let it scab again; let it sit,

my place of proven pain,

until one day, it falls away and

leaves nothing

but

the kiss of healed skin as its

only mark

on

me.

~

And then one day, tourists arrive and

snap pics

from their smart phones

in dour shots

of ignorant,

unnatural,

and obedient

penitence;

and when

only tombstones and plaques remain,

you can be sure that the pain is faked and rehearsed.

My heart and my mind has made so much war (in myself and out, with these fingertips, these pens and yellow and yellowed pages of legal pad and printed pages from computer screens and laptop keys tip-tip-tipping)

that if you line up

all of the soldiers

alive and veteraned

single file,

they would connect a quiet eight-year-old boy reading

with a

withering man of forty writing;

from Burbank to Chicago.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s