And now:[EMAIL PROTECTED] writes:

At the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial


How quickly the tears come
is a tribute to their valor and to Maya Lin
and the perfection of her vision.

I perform an experiment
for my students back in San Antonio.
Standing before each panel
near the casualty-rich center
I count the seconds
until my eyes find a name
that tells of Indian-Spanish heritage:

        A thousand and one--Flores
        A thousand and two--Gonzalez
        A thousand and three--Zuniga
        A thousand and one--Flores

It is a bad day for flowers
and I cannot exceed three seconds.

                The air cavalry burns another village to save it as
                the choppers clip the morning air over the scent of
                jellied gasoline and the sound of crying children 
                the fresh troops fly in and the body bags fly out.

                        After they pulled down the tipi
                        an Arapaho elder
                        raised a trade goods hatchet-pipe
                        and the young officer who rode him down
                        turned to finish the old man
                        and was almost thrown for
                        not knowing that a horse
                        will try not to step on a human being
                        or not knowing that the elder
                        struggling to rise on his unbroken arm
                        was a human being.

Across the grass there is a new monument to the women.
One nurse holds a pressure bandage
on the chest of a fallen warrior
with the heel of her hand
another gazes skyward
for Med Evac.

                The smell of powder and the haze it creates and the 
                constant din-din-din of automatic weapons fire 
                takes all the senses out of the world but for a 
                wild shout that cuts through all the overloaded 
                neural pathways and connects to the here and now:
                "Medic!  We need a medic!"  Women were not supposed 
                to be battlefield medics, but they forgot to tell
                the battlefield.

                        The young officer ended the encounter
                        with a pistol shot to the head
                        close enough to spatter
                        the blue coat red.
                        He had another for the elderly woman
                        uulating over the body.

The statue raised to placate
those who did not share Maya Lin's vision
is not as dreary as I expected.
Three young warriors, bone-tired,
seem to be regarding
the names of their fallen comrades.
I stand beside them, crying.

copyright 1999
Steve Russell

Reprinted under the Fair Use http://www4.law.cornell.edu/uscode/17/107.html doctrine 
of international copyright law.
                  <><<<<<>>>>><><<<<>
           Tsonkwadiyonrat (We are ONE Spirit)
                   http://www.tdi.net/ishgooda/       
                  <><<<<<>>>>><><<<<>
                              

Reply via email to