The Dignified Transfer

With no intentions or words I begin,
just an idea, and a fear,
I am bereft of any respect I had left
for our “democracy"

I dreamed distantly of someone
that may have been my brother,

He was given the dignified transfer,
The purple heart and a folded flag

I have a microphoned heartbeat  
in front of a crowd,

They wait with bated breath.
He came home and 
I. Can’t. Speak.
This eulogy should easily utter itself,

I walk away from the mourning din
 let me get back to my own safe home

without dead soldiers
 without bullet holes in corrugated tin
  without these tears and anger
   without this oil, money and blood
    without this kid-hero 
in a shining box worth more than my car.

The bittersweet pride of dying for a country that only seems 
to plot to spread
a couldn’t care less- stressed out- economic disease


He was given the dignified transfer
conducted promptly upon arrival.


  1. Oh dear gracious me! I love it, for stanzas in and I was already posting this comment. You and I do have the same sort of writing style.
    Oh my, my. What to say about this poem it really is something unqiue. Words that I have no doubt will haunt me forever. I have written some poems about war: here's a link to it. I just posted it because I realized - horridly - that I didn't have any post.
    Let me know what you think.

  2. Lovely! And I agree wholeheartedly with Anna :)

  3. Hi, nice poetry! A new follower from Book Blogs and I would love, if you could follow my blog at Books Are Magic.

    Vidya @ Books Are Magic

  4. Thank you all for your comments, and compliments. It means more than you all know. Actually you all probably do know!