IMAGES
WORDS
This poem is dedicated to my beloved uncle, James Walling Connor, Jr., who served his country in World War II and spent his entire adult life in a Veteran's Hospital, never able to see the world without the images of war intruding. When I was a child, he told me the story of seeing a deer on a morning battlefield and the story stayed with me my entire life. He was a sweet and gentle man who loved animals and nature. Knowing him was one of the greatest blessings of my life. I wrote this the year before Uncle Wally died in 1997.
A Soldier's Memory
The young eyes of an old soldier
stare past the bricks and bars
that keep the world at bay.
Tame within his cage,
he remembers what lies outside
the sanctuary of walls.
This domesticated warrior
this watcher of hawks
still spies a Nazi
on occasion
crouched behind the tree
where the Mockingbird sings.
He remembers the light
of a smoke filled dawn
in the Black Forest
where he lay in a silence
broken only by the songs of birds
and the memory-hum of voices
screaming endlessly.
He remembers
watching the morning
spill into the fox-hole
like hope
before pain absorbed the glow.
Shock-dazed eyes
peer over the rim
of nightmares
to see a young deer
step gracefully
from dawn-hidden shadows
a creature from another world
another time
a reminder of life.
The soldier springs
into the light
rifle shot slicing the air above
to save this dream
this child of God
and scare it home.
The deer turns
leaping from light to darkness
with a flash of white tail
free to carry faith
to a place of safety
free to grow
and father children
free to live or die
in the world outside.
The young soldier,
tempted to follow -
to find peace
in whatever form it comes
stays behind, held fast
by honor and horror mixed.
He slides into mud
into darkness.
The battle begins again.
He stands stiffly now,
arms straight at sides
at attention still.
A soldier locked inside
red brick and bars
and flags of sacrifice.
But in the aged warrior's face
lives a gentle gardener
who knows the names of trees
and all the family's birthdays.
Who holds the memory
of a deer glimpsed
at world's end
close to his heart
like the spilled sun
of a long-ago morning
lighting the way
from his exile of darkness.
Copyright (c) 1994-2012 - Elizabeth Dozier Steedly
Please do not use or print without permission. Email tibart@mindspring.com