by Andrea Helaine

Created on: November 09, 2009

Veteran's Hospital

A final breath
bodies are sent-basement bound.
Sweat pours from my forehead I sit
in this place of death and sometimes rebirth.
Beds lie in front of me, as empty as my head.
Televisions roar:
news of gang shootings a runaway girl.
Magazines piled on the table beside me
soldiers' stories: "City of God" ; Never Ending War."
Two elderly men in wheelchairs

slump over sleeping,
choking for air,
no longer living with memories of the dead.
A black man beside me holds a brown cane
carvings etched into aged wood.
A gray haired man passes a female dancer
engraved in his arm.
The waiting room
I cannot identify the smell-
murkiness, humidity,
urine, dirty clothes gagging me,
each moment's breath
a reminder of soldiers:
I sink into my cushioned chair breathing in
this sullen smell.
Tears spring from my eyes
smearing make-up
swollen eyes.
I wonder what I would do
if I had to bid my grandfather good-bye?
I would pray beside him,
remembering times together,
reading each other's thoughts,
camping in the rain,
telling jokes until I hurt to laugh.
I recall him telling stories of his past.
His war stories startled me-
the sounds of gunshots ringing in my ears.I close my eyes
imagine:
soldiers falling upon the ground
eyelids shuttering
one last time,
smoke rising from the ground
as gunshots pierce the air,
my grandfather
gun upon his shoulder
overcoming fear.
I would pray to God to embrace his hand
welcome him in His Holy Land.
I would leave this solemn place
remember that before he left
he could not tell
if God would call him to Heaven
or if he'd go to Hell.
He killed many men
never thought twice
until the end.
Within this soldier's wasteland,
I stand,
pray for blessings upon
aging soldiers, wanting
to grasp their hands
kiss their cheeks
before a final breath brings
everlasting peace.

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