War: 2 Poems

More bad news today. More people killed, more bombs, no news about the 3 missing soldiers, and Congress still not taking the actions needed to end this stupidity. I understand that we can't just leave, but staying without a real plan and leaving our soldiers there to face hatred and ineptness is not an option. And then we put them on trial for the things they might have done. It's a war--people, civilians, they get killed. That's war, and it's ugly and nasty and if we didn't want people to be killed we should not have started this mess.

I am the mother of soldiers. I am the wife, daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter of soldiers, back at least to the American Revolution. Military men (and for all I know, women) have been in the family for generations. That does not mean I have to like it. It does not mean I am comfortable with it.

My stomach is in knots every day, and my heart sinks every time I hear another soldier has died. I cannot bear to think of their families, their mothers. I know that most of the soldiers are there because they believe their leaders, and that they serve because they believe it is the right thing to do. That is why my sons joined. They believed it was their duty to defend their country, to serve with pride. I am proud of their choices even as I twist inside with worry.

Right now, I feel lucky. Two sons still in the military, but at the moment neither one in the Mideast. That makes me feel guilty. Other mother's sons and daughters are there. One of mine has already been there, I remind myself, but it doesn't make my real relief at the current safety of my sons seem less selfish.

The two poems below reflect a little of how I feel. I find it hard to put into words, and I worry that somehow I am being disrespectful of my sons. It's not a good time to be the mother of soldiers.

Storyteller

when the darkness hides his face
it’s then he tells the tales
of opening up the massive graves
of those killed in the first Gulf War

the baby skeletons are the ones
that get to him the most
he tells about fragile bones
voice cracking on the words

that tell of how they found the graves
and how they dug them out
backhoes scooping out the earth
because it takes too long by hand

to dig up four thousand buried bodies
under hot Iraqi sun
we stood there by the bones he says
while people came to search

to find their missing relatives--
uncle, father, brother, son
aunt and mother, daughter, too
all mixed and mingled in the sand

he never tells too much at once
it takes a while to hear it all
a tale no man should have to tell
but all men need to hear

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Mother’s Anthem

I am just his mother
I cannot tell him what to do
Now that he’s a grown man
With his own life and will
the duty he has chosen
is one he must fulfill

To defend his country
Right or wrong
keep it safe and keep it strong
I am just his mother
Who can blame me if I cry
Inside each night with fear
At what my son has seen
In his thirty-two years

Someone has to do it,
That is what he says
Someone has to be there
Someone has to fight the fight
why must it be my son, I cry
I am just his mother
And yes, I swell with pride
When I see him standing proud
In his uniform of military might

He is just another soldier
Like the thousands gone before
I am just his mother
And I am tired of war