I am in vietnam–
who will console me?
I am terrified of bombs,
of cold wet leaves and bamboo splinters
in my feet, of a bullet cracking through
the trees, across the world, killing me–
there is a bullet in my brain,
behind my eyes, so that all I see is pain
i am in vietnam
who will console me?
from the sixoclock news,
from the headlines lurking on the street,
between the angry lovesongs on the radio,
from the frightened hawks
and angry doves I meet
a war I will not fight is killing me–
i am in vietnam —
who will console me?
A framed print of this poster hung in my living room when I was growing up. I am thinking of Corita Kent this morning. I am thinking of Daniel Berrigan, Denise Levertov, e.e. cummings, and Robert Lowell. My thought does not take the form of 280 character packets.
