This is for my dad: "Vietnam Dreams" I wonder if my father ever dreams Vietnam dreams He was a young man then who looked much like I do now He was a Marine in '68 a camouflaged soldier with M16 and radio pack and fresh eyes a dense forest patroller in hazy foreign jungles far removed from the tight urban neighborhoods whose darkness meant peace and quiet back home not foreboding danger from unknown viny depths (no friendly garages burger stands or theatres in this stifling humidity) He walked wet jungle glistening listening to the foreign sounds of continuous rain strange birds calling and for foreign strangers crouching wet waiting quiet as the fronds and the mosquitoes walking in the middle of the patrol line he moves slowly through the only beam of thick warm sunlight visible to every soldier on the path and his mind wanders into a dream of my mother her letters the picture she writes and says Love to get him through he smiles to himself thinks back through time through thousands of miles through yesterday and he is with her for one instant (his boots sinking into soft thick earth) he is in line again he is moving still the clouds half close the whole of the sky the noon sun dismal and wet yelling yellow faint jungle sounds far off cracks rain slapping leaves coughs from somewhere ahead in line the warm apparition behind it feels good for a moment thinking of security of home of dreams of brotherhood and protection thoughts of returning outweigh thoughts of danger for just a moment WHACKWHACKWHACK! POPPOP! POPPOPPOP! POPPOP! leaves sliced fall to ground dirt kicking up in eyes the jerking dance of dialed in soldiers in front and behind moving awkward quick seizing twirling deaths and fall to ground (bursts of sun through the clouds! the sun has come out! the peacemaker! the fear killer!) POPPOPPOP! POP! POP! CRACK! CRACKCRACK! he's never seen a tree trunk burst like that before nor blood soak into mud POPPOPPOPPOP! CRACK! WHACKWHACK! POPPOP! POPPOPPOP! POP! CRACK! shouts screams yells fight and flight and fire (the sunbeams sit transcendent in quiet gloom razor shafts from jungle canopy) my father as a Marine reacts empties rounds into thickest dangers unseen unseeing killing for the right to live POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! (a cacophony of sound envelops stillborn dreams) he sits and waits for something remembers his mother most of all through the shear terror of what is happening there is no training for a reality like this the emptiest minutes pass quite for a moment a perfect silence settles not even the jungle has a word to say so full of life and frightening death he waits no sound no breathing from a friend in front no talking from a friend behind my father sees collecting pools of sadness at their feet the dark rich red of unborn generations a vengeful calm reacts throughout the jungle a bird begins singing he thinks of home he thinks of his mother of my mother in the deadliest silence he will ever know my father dreams of homes (the rain and mosquitoes buzz his ears and the jungle returns in a haze)
