poetryrepairs 15,04:044

ABIGAIL B. CALKIN Soul of my Soldier
:Fixing the Problem
: Jagged Edges
: A Letter and a Conversation

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ABIGAIL B. CALKIN
Fixing the Problem

Perhaps it becomes the fabric of your soul That much we know till Some days we don’t notice how you’ve morphed, Developed silence. It becomes part of you—the lines of age, the wrinkles of disaster crease your soul. Your cranium created new detours that Weren’t meant to become fixed highways. For twenty years you walked through Muck as thick as La Brea Sandpits— dragging me along— the one where so many saber-tooth tigers died. It only took twelve years of hard work to swim out the other side. Covered with sand, scat and bones, we took Showers and washed each other’s backs. Perhaps now it has vaporized Dissipated somewhere along the trail Into air above Everest, Sullied no one else’s soul.

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:044






Jagged Edges

How do you put the pieces together? Asked the young enlisted wife. I never did, but I learned How to manoeuver jagged edges, Answered the officer’s wife.

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:044






A Letter and a Conversation

Letter, 1991: Saudi Arabia is beautiful. Its desert stretches horizon to horizon. There are no mountains here and all Nights are cool. I see a sky full of stars. Reminds me of home in the Oregon desert. Conversation, 2013: When Scuds came, Everyone panicked, ran for their masks and flak jackets. I didn’t. Many cried. I didn’t. “You had two tours under worse conditions,” I said. “Yeah,” he replied as he put another log on the fire.

poetryrepairs #211 15,04:044







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