Kenneth Flynn

The Magellanic Clouds Of Viet Nam

     How far we travelled, sweetheart… —Stephen Spender

When you came home from
the minutes of war
sick from passion and duty

you lived
in the past

and the future

anywhere but here.

You walked in
suspicious

of desires and
other rites of loss

“Promise me you’ll
only dream
dreams of me,” I’d said

but that spoke to a life
where death
had not yet reached

and a time
smaller
than your experience.

It took eleven years of walking
for you to reach
the marble names
afraid you’d find yours on the list
and afraid you wouldn’t.

Fated to be alive
when your friends were dead,

you smoothed
your mournful clothes

and turned toward the Memorial.
I found Buzz Eidsmoe’s name
you called.This is why I was
afraid to come
afraid to see it.
It’s here. I see it.
I can remember their faces
but not all their names.

You talked about perspectives,
the marble of memorial,

the angles
simple
unadorned

contained by a sun

shining on black surfaces

surprisingly radiant.

by Grace Cavalieri
(fromThe Man Who Got Away, ©2014 New Academia/Scarith Press.)