Wednesday, March 22, 2006

letters from war
by mark schultz

she walked to the mailbox

on that bright summer's day
found a letter from her son
in a war, far away
he spoke of the weather
and good friends that he'd made
said, "i'd been thinking 'bout dad
and the life that he had
that's why i'm here today"
then at the end he said
"you are what i'm fighting for"
it was the first of his letters from war

she started writing
you're good and you're brave
what a father that you'll be someday
make it home, make it safe
she wrote every night as she prayed

and late in december
a day she'll not forget
oh, her tears stained the paper
with every word that she read
it said, "i was up on a hill i was out there alone
when the shots all rang out
and bombs were exploding
and that's when i saw him
he came back for me
and though he was captured
a man set me free
and that man was your son
he asked me to write to you
i told him i would, oh i swore"

it was the last of the letters from war
and she prayed he was living
kept on believing and wrote every night just to say

you are good and you're brave
what a father that you'll be someday
make it home, make it safe
still, she kept writing each day

then two years later
autumn leaves all around
a car pulled in the driveway
and she fell to the ground
and out stepped a captain
where her boy used to stand
he said, "mom, i'm following orders
from all of your letters
and I've come home again"
he ran in to hold her,
dropped all his bags on the floor
holding all of her letters from war

bring him home
bring him home
bring him home

Sunday, March 19, 2006

"oh... ba ga kau. ani gu..."
"eng gai eh ki kua e"
"giou e gia blanket ki... mm mai. guoi ki mm zai eh leng oo?"
"oh... mm zai e uh gia shampoo qi oo? xiang ga boh. cham!!..."

the day's not done yet and mom has already done her share (and more) of worrying. a sign of sadness? a sign of anxiety? or is it just empty nest syndrome?

i guess this is what makes her who she is... a mother

it's hard to say, it's time to say it... goodbye... goodbye...
can i cry? no... must not cry... must not cry... must hold on. gotta hold on...

that opened door, which now revealed an empty room. a comforter folded neatly on the bed, bedspread straightened out of any creases. the table, which used to be piled full of stuff, is as bare as the desert. cds, books, dictionary now take their places on the shelf. oh, curse each time that i have to pass the room.

[note to self: lay off 'em (hardly-would-call) 'flowery' words]

i'm s.a.d, no less...