On Behalf of a Grateful Nation

by Kaitlin Mills

Gathered under the oak tree,
twenty-one blasts strike the air.

A marine approaches,
lays the folded flag in my hands.
Echoes from the salute the only sounds.

The bugle sings
as his bed lowers into the ground.

Now he’s gone.

Kaitlin Mills is the proud daughter of an Army Staff Sergeant who served two tours in Iraq before being medically retired after he suffered a traumatic brain injury during his second tour. She is a student at Northern Kentucky University where she is studying English Creative Writing. She is often inspired by her family’s military roots, and uses the inspiration to write poetry and often writes non-fiction pieces about her experiences in being a military daughter and sister. She lives in Northern Kentucky with her parents and her sisters.

Adversity

by Monique Gagnon German

The worst part is the silence,
no, the worst part is the insult,
the degradation that precedes
that silence but maybe the worst
part is built up over time, the way
it keeps showing up, even after
you think you defeated it, that last time
back in Pendleton, 29 Palms, Iraq
but here it comes again, grinning
spotting you immediately
in the crowd like a distant cousin
at the airport, smiling, shouting
greetings, arms out for a hug,
making its way as the sea of onlookers
breaks apart, creates a row,
it’s downright religious, you think,
as you look at their faces now,
how each of them sees what’s
coming for you, how none
of them want to be touched.

Monique Gagnon German is married to a retiring Marine with 23 years’ service to his country. “Adversity” was written specifically for him and made him laugh with recognition when he read it; this alone makes it one of her favorite poems. More poems by Monique can be found at: http://www.moniquegagnongerman.com

Icarus in Arms

by Grady Smith

There beside the one at rest stands the one who had his way,
His blade still red with the proof of winning.
Before the steel is cleansed of it
​The skin it warmed
​The flesh it fed
​The heart made stronger by its flow
​And all the rest
​All that can be seen of him and touched
Must lie beneath disinterested stones
​To hide him
​To give him decent privacy for what must come
And there above him
​Like some loved old friend in dotage
​His sword will top the cairn point down
​And foolishly wave the inadequate shield

But look now
There beside the one at rest
The one who had his way hovers above that face
Sensing beneath the cooling blood
​What he can never leave behind nor yet approach
His flows as readily
​Darkens as rapidly
​As easily is wiped away.

No wonder!
No wonder it seems he has ripped those vacant eyes away
​To use them as his own
​No black center
​No tinted ring
​No focusing cone of chilling comprehension
That the one already cold might have had his place

And where would he then be?

Now in the stretching of that one brief moment
​Before your eyes look outward again
​Fly to the sphere of light—
​Fly to its firestorm
​Rising in some primal heaving thrust
​Against the resisting dark.
Fly till the waxy spine of your arching flight
​Repeats the legend
​And you lurch unwinged
​Between the bright heat
​And the cold stone pile
A soldier once again.

Grady Smith served as an infantry company commander in the Vietnam Delta. His debut novel Blood Chit tells the story of a young NCO in Vietnam who is sent home with PTSD. It has been nominated for the Library of Virginia 2013 Literary Award for the Novel. His short story “Al Gomez” appeared in Volume 1, Number 1 of “O-Dark-Thirty.” He lives in Arlington, Va., with his wife Katy.

Homecoming

by Shannon Eddy

Frozen faces forage behind large yellow line,
The scene seems less populated than the bon

voyage; at least he is there, link-less,
hidden in line behind the chain-clink,

fence, covered in split extra large black bags.
Parents in bloom shouldn’t see connectors

they are there for the green line con-text-ed,
through experience sharing weights and falls.

Providing cover are the sleeping faceless few
a pace when lamented fists become hands folded,

black connected closed stages draped in stars.
Striped for the proud families in red and blue,

yet

there he is- face framed in commissioned glasses,
his brow in relief above still waxen polished shoes.

Shoulders fall; silence permeates the guarded meet,
relief holds his tongue; all he wants is French fries.

“They’re just not the same in the sand.”

Shannon Eddy graduated from the University of Rhode Island with a BA in English Literature in 2009 and he has worked with the Ocean State Summer Writer’s Conference. His poems can be found online and in print at Chaparral, The Naugatuck River Review and most recently The Rufous Salon. He is a proud family member of military servicemen: his Grandfather was a WW2 Airman, his father a Marine and his brother an Iraq War Veteran of the US Army.

Through Heaven’s Air

by Jay Harden

The thrill of being depended on
To move a bomber through heaven’s air starts with mastery,
The power of total control over something much more powerful
Than you.
And that certain knowing brings a giddy glee
That no one else can possibly understand
Unless they, too, have been chosen and initiated
Into that small, admired fraternity of military flying men,
Nodding heroes to one other and in secret to themselves, unspoken.
That supreme, hidden satisfaction of aerial navigation has never left me
After all these years.
I still long for that worth of work
In the raw beauty of uncompromising time where no excuses exist:
Be there then, or all is lost:
Your promise, or your life.
And when the fickle ticking gods change their minds,
You instantly reset yours
And be there at the new then.
To remember you were once so very much alive aches now:
Scooting around the sky, teasing the air and the earth below,
Being paid to play,
Certain that your effort meant something.

Jay Harden is a retired Department of Defense cartographer who flew 500 combat hours in Vietnam as a B-52 navigator. He has written hundreds of poems and stories on war, loss, love, and family. An essay about his aircraft won a gold medal at the VA National Creative Arts Festival in 2009.

As I Stare Out My Window

by Andrew Kaufman

As I stare out my window I see the fog coating the hills
I see the majestic oak sheltering the fresh maples below
I see the Robins traverse from branch to branch
I see the squirrels gorging themselves on acorns
Across the field is a road which is silent right now
A lone cyclist gasps against the wind
Going to or coming from I don’t know
Out of sight now the emptiness returns
I see the clouds above dancing lightly in the wind
Some are wisps of dreams lost
Others tell their own story
Each one different but yet so alike
As I stare more intensely I see the spider
He is climbing slowly on the blade of grass
Eight gripping tightly moving slowly
Silken web expands and is complete
Ready to ambush for the night
Catching his prey in the darkness
And feasting till dawn
Such is the way of things
As I stare out my window

Andy Kaufmann is a retired Lieutenant Colonel from the Army. He started his career as a medic, then was accepted to Flight School and was selected to pilot the OH58D. He has been writing poetry since 8th grade as a hobby, and loves to write perspective poetry that conveys messages. Andy retired at Fort Drum NY and subsequently moved to Virginia where he is working as a consultant.