Public Republic

Colleen Harris

Photo: The U.S. Army

This poem takes liberties
with the truth. He was not thinking
about how the IED sounded like God
bellowing after stubbing a toe. He was not
whispering his sister’s names aloud
while still deaf from the blast. It is true
that the shrapnel shredded the mail,
including a letter from his mother.
But he was not thinking of letters,
or noise, or about how the mangled truck
looked like a Lovecraftian ruin.
This poem takes liberties because
what ran through his head and stumbled
out of his mouth was not a poem.
Oh Eddie oh shit oh God Eddie, the blood,
what will I tell Myra, where is the rest of you Eddie?