forgetting something
Nick Flynn
Try this—close / your eyes. No, wait, when—if—we see each other / again the first thing we should do is close our eyes—no, / first we should tie our hands to something / solid—bedpost, doorknob— otherwise they (wild birds) / might startle us / awake. Are we forgetting something? What about that / warehouse, the one beside the airport, that room / of black boxes, a man in each box? I hear / if you bring this one into the light he will not stop / crying, if you show this one a photo of his son / his eyes go dead. Turn up / the heat, turn up the song. First thing we should do / if we see each other again is to make / a cage of our bodies—inside we can place / whatever still shines.
Oh, I really need something that still shines. Especially this Monday that feels like a morning after a really long weekend of twisting off. Don't you?
This weekend marked the exact moment where we left the key on the nightstand, turned out the lights, closed the door behind us, and left Iraq.
I guess it's up to the historians and Oliver Stone to tell us just what the hell happened, what it all really means. I know how I feel, how I've felt, this last decade of war and social and economic upheavals: terror , apathy, rage, disgust, raw animal fear, complacent, hope, disappointment, anger, disillusionment, betrayal, outrage, duped, pissed off, really, really hopeful.
All I know, is that we have young men and women coming back home, very changed. Now, it's our turn to serve.
How? I'm not sure. Let's figure it out.
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