I got good news today. My first published poem will be coming out within the next year! I submitted a poem to the journal Chaplaincy Today, and it will be published in the fall/winter or spring/summer issue!
since a couple people asked, here's the final version of the poem I wrote:
Somewhere There is War (November 2007)
Two kids trot dutifully, dragging a teddy bear, try to look strong, behind their mother pushing their father in a wheelchair.
He was once their father, if they remember him, touching their noses with wonder, letting them wrap their tiny hands around his thick fingers - before he went.
Now, in a wheelchair, he smells funny, takes up Mommy's time, makes her cry.
He was once her husband, touching her here, and there, wrapping his thick arms around her waist - before he went over.
Now he wants their attention, somewhere in his brain he knows this. He wants their love, their touch; he wants to tell them he loves them; he wants to tell them that somewhere he knows - he is her husband, their father, a man, a soldier, proud. If he makes this sound, this unearthly sound,
It curdles; it condenses dread and fear in the air into sand That sifts down slowly into the pits of stomachs. If he makes this sound, they'll pay attention to him, maybe they'll look in his eyes and maybe they'll see that - somewhere in his brain he knows, somewhere in that egg yolk rattled too much in its shell by the blast wave, somewhere in the leaking yellow fluid, he knows who he used to be, who he is, who he wants to be.
[by Wade Meyer. Published in Chaplaincy Today, vol.24, no.2 - Autumn/Winder 2008]
2 comments:
Yay Wade! That is fabulous, & I love to hear it. Congratulations.
since a couple people asked, here's the final version of the poem I wrote:
Somewhere There is War (November 2007)
Two kids trot dutifully, dragging a teddy bear,
try to look strong, behind
their mother pushing their father in a wheelchair.
He was once their father, if they remember him,
touching their noses with wonder,
letting them wrap their tiny hands
around his thick fingers - before he went.
Now, in a wheelchair, he smells funny,
takes up Mommy's time, makes her cry.
He was once her husband, touching her here,
and there, wrapping his thick arms
around her waist - before he went over.
Now he wants their attention,
somewhere in his brain he knows this.
He wants their love, their touch;
he wants to tell them he loves them;
he wants to tell them that somewhere
he knows - he is her husband, their father,
a man, a soldier, proud.
If he makes this sound, this unearthly sound,
It curdles; it condenses dread and fear in the air into sand
That sifts down slowly into the pits of stomachs. If
he makes this sound, they'll pay attention to him,
maybe they'll look in his eyes and maybe they'll see
that - somewhere in his brain he knows, somewhere in
that egg yolk rattled too much in its shell by the blast wave,
somewhere in the leaking yellow fluid, he knows
who he used to be,
who he is,
who he wants to be.
[by Wade Meyer. Published in Chaplaincy Today, vol.24, no.2 - Autumn/Winder 2008]
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