On the bed, he screams
Lost in the jungle
The sound of metal hitting bone
The smell of burning napalm
Hidden in the synapses.
They gave him shore leave
Sent him home
Told him to get some rest
They couldn’t see that in the Army
The cammo is painted
On the inside of the eyelids
The scar tissue of battle wounds
Dissonant memories too hard to remember
When awake
Seem to dance on the graves
Of shortstop, T-bone, Jimmy
In the limbo of sleep.
He’ll wake up, panting, crying
In the room of the house he is now
A stranger to.
He wants to go back.
Wants to search for Charlie some more
He wants to die there
In the sweat and the storm of artillery
Next to the men he would give his life for.
He’s sold his soul to a war
He was dragged into, kicking and screaming
All the while.
He says his best memory
Is of running through the forest
With a Vietnamese toddler in his arms
Dodging bullets.
When they had cleared the underbrush
And stopped at an Air Force base
She awoke, looked at him, and smiled,
Murmuring “Cha, cha” daddy, daddy over and over again
He’s a silent warrior, sometimes here, sometimes there
Collecting memories, beautiful and terrible
The sundown on the Mekong River, light dancing on the water
As bodies spoil the earth.
He hopes that someday, he will come home
He will really, truly come
Home.