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She just called and told me she'd advanced to finals. Her next reading is at 2:30. If she makes the cut again she advances to regionals.
Her category is American Reflections. She chose to do poems on the War in Vietnam. I thought I'd share the poems she read with you here on DU. Let me warn you ahead of time, they are very sad. I cry everytime she reads them to me.
This collection is written an Army Nurse who served in Vietnam. Her name is Dusty.
"HELLO, DAVID" ~Dusty
Hello, David - my name is Dusty. I'm your night nurse. I will stay with you. I will check your vitals every fifteen minutes. I will document inevitability. I will hang more blood and give you something for your pain. I will stay with you and I will touch your face.
Yes, of course, I will write your mother and tell her that you were brave. I will write your mother and tell her how much you loved her. I will write your mother and tell her to give your bratty kid sister a big kiss and hug. What I will not tell her is that you were wasted. I will stay with you and I will hold your hand. I will stay with you and watch your life flow through my fingers into my soul. I will stay with you until you stay with me.
Goodbye, David - my name is Dusty. I am the last person you will see. I am the last person you will touch I am the last person who will love you. So Long, David - my name is Dusty, David - who will give me something for my pain?
"My Dead Are Not Silent" ~Dusty
My dead are not silent. They scream in my dreams.
My dead are not still. They reach for their mothers.
My dead are young soldiers spent, wasted, discarded.
They paid the price for political ploys for strategic follies for tactical errors.
The politicians and planners the orderers and senders discomfited but unshamed demand that my dead lie quiet that my grief be smothered that my ache be shunned that my memories be denied.
But my dead will not be stilled They will not be shelved numbered cataloged straightened into sanitized rows. Their blood yet drips through my soul Their moans still echo through my heart.
My dead demand remembrance My dead demand honor My dead demand that lessons be learned. I hear them still through my dreams through my laughter through my prayers
My dead are not silent.
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