poetryrepairs 15,04:038

ABIGAIL B. CALKIN Soul of my Soldier
:Operating Room
: Collateral Damage
: Innocence Shattered

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Operating Room 

Those in the operating room Were too busy with incoming Wounded and dying to worry about incoming mortars and missiles. They cleaned They cut They sewed Took out bullets and fragments Scooped up innards or amputated legs Put puzzle pieces back into faces. Fell asleep twenty hours later Too tired to weep. So busy one day, some doctor assigned a teenager to perform an appendectomy.

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:038

Collateral Damage 

How many soldiers did you see dying or dead in front line operating rooms before you got laid for the first time as a teenager on an R&R in Bangkok?

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:038

Innocence Shattered

In memory of Jim Carlson
Out of uniform he sat on the edge of his childhood. Wept. Shook wept more. Where is the boy who stood in the sand in awe of the desert, ocean, vastness of space? He sits on the edge of his bed mourning his friend. Jim lay woundedó he asked for Robbie. The Army did what they could to get his hometown buddy there, but as Robbie walked to the helicopter word came Jim had died. Once home six months later, he walked to visit the grieving mother. Did he die for a reason, she asked. He could not answer because there is no reason in randomness. He crept home, his soul too weighted to walk, sat in the bathroom three days sobbing. What was its purpose? Why did he die? Why do I live? His family, not knowing what to do, remained downstairs, waited for him to get off the edge of his precipice, waited for the boy they had sent to war to come home. But the tears never dried. They just stopped running down his cheeks.

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:038

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