I lost my legs in Afghanistan
Not like how my dad lost his heart in San Francisco
Little sharpened pencil flowers will grow inside my boots
I will be vigilant with every precise boom
in hopes of Afghan children jumping for recess bells
I left my heart and am forgotten
I will leave the noises and lights of war to the boozy night
Deployed to survive, just to return to the unknown
They mention me in an obscure way in the smell that burns my nose
I'll cut my hair and iron my Walmart shirt with precision
I lost my legs to the stars and strips, fifty times
It’s no coincidence I hear chanting dream voices, asking if I’ve lost my legs in Afghanistan
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Author:
Parisab (
Offline) - Published: May 25th, 2023 01:46
- Comment from author about the poem: Memorial Day and stories I hear about war and post trauma …
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments4
Parisab, Enjoyed "Forever Losses" so much. You are a vet also, I believe. You are welcome to visit my "A Memorial Day Tribute" It's short but "sweet".
I will do so, sir-my father was a vet and so are some of my patients who experience PTSD
Reminding in succinct style the debt we owe without preaching but a touch of responsible urging and I for one will shepherd my acknowledgement and like little sharpened pencil flowers foster it’s growth.
I am grateful for your attention and acknowledgement of our veterans. I am extending you a little sharpened pencil flower, poet friend…
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