After the War (pt. 2)

From RLB:

. . . write an occupational poem today. You can write about your own occupation or that of another. Had a favorite job from the past? A least favorite job? A funny story from a job? Consider these questions before tackling your poem today.



After the War

I would sit alone writing letters to anyone I knew, trying to convince them to write me, trying to convince myself I was still alive. The pens I wrote with were cheap and my hands shook. Being left handed, I would smear my letters, rubbing in the dust which was everywhere, After years of thinking over the past, I believe now I was actually trying to send myself home, one tiny layer at a time.

I think about writing letters to soldiers in Iraq now, mirroring the kindness of those who wrote anonymous letters to me, but they've stopped all of that: Too much hate mail finding its way to soldiers who don't know how to shrug off their anger. I can't help but think now that in some small way, I should be sending myself back to the desert where I know none of these soldiers belong.