Fallujah


Training in the woods
at Fort Lewis, Washington,
on patrol and for a moment
quite alone,
you happen upon a trillium,
moon-silver secret revelation
piercing the fern-green gloom.
You bow down whispering,
"Thank you for showing me
what’s inside."
Six months later on patrol
in the shimmering rubble
of Fallujah,
you happen upon a girl
three days dead,
her body cut nearly in half
by American fire -
your fire, my fire -
her large intestine blossoming
in the desert sun,
a terrible sweetness
in your nostrils.
You bow down whispering,
"Thank you for showing me
what's inside."
For others, it goes on.
For you,
this is the last war.