From the Psychologist's Office

Hi Everyone! This poem was inspired by accounts of my soldiers telling different stories the same way. So often, soldiers feel guilty about surviving combat when a friend did not. The guilt haunts them in their sleep. This is a dark poem, but I want to let others know that for so many, the war doesn't end when our men and women leave the combat zone.

Survivor’s Guilt

In a resurrection
As sweet as the smell
Of pine trees on the
Hillsides of my innocence,
I laugh with you
While all about us darkens.

We start running to
Bunkers that shrink and fade
With each slow-motion stride I can muster.
Concussions (purple-white) rack my sleep.
I flatten
Clutching my sweat-soaked mattress
Shielding myself from murder.
Moaning awake (screams from my dreams)
You die again.
A victim of jagged shrapnel
(My survivor’s guilt).

Awake and dead again
I edge from room to room
In a security sweep.
Check my locks for violation.
Scanning my lawn for
Shadow craters in moonlight.
I stay awake in silence
Wondering when both of us will stay dead.
______________________________

Let me know your thoughts.
b