Last Friday, a group of seven of us, led by Liz Garton Scanlon of Liz in Ink, posted original villanelles.
I had wanted to do something other than a nature poem, because those feel like home, and I wanted to push myself out of the comforts of home. So I tried a war poem, written from a WWII veteran’s point of view. I haven’t glanced at it since I wrote it Thanksgiving week, so we’ll see how it looks.
Wounded
Thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday?
for battling a stark, concrete regime?
But friends and hope both died along the way.
In war, my days were clear so far away.
My squad, my unit, one unbroken team:
thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday.
A bed, three meals, and comrades in the fray?
when going home was nothing but a dream?
But friends and hope both died along the way.
I played both roles, both predator and prey.
I see myself in memory’s stark white beam.
Thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday.
Now nothing keeps the nightmare sounds at bay:
the chopper blades, the gunfire, and the scream,
as friends and hope both died along the way.
My unseen wounds descend into decay.
I have no sense of any larger scheme.
Thanksgiving for my truth of yesterday,
but friends and hope both died along the way.
—Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved
Diane at Random Noodling has the Poetry Friday roundup today. Don’t miss it!