Two Poems – Matt Borczon

Finished

I sometimes
imagine
what it
would be
like to
be done
to have
nothing
left to
say about
that war
that hospital
those ghosts
those nightmares
no more
words for
the dead
children and
no words
to describe
the texture
of a
skin graft
or a
stump or
the smell
of a
colostomy bag
no more
words about
death and
fear and
smoke and
ash or 
dreams that
fill my
reality like
home movies

to put 
this down
not for
a minute
but forever
to have
finally
said it
enough times
that even
I have
to believe
that its
finally
over and
its time
to move
on.

Feb 2016



What we never talk about 
For Brian, Frankie, John and Ryan 

stubby cigars
and 118
degree heat
in a
hootch just
off the
enlisted tent
we talked
about life
work outs
sex and
the Navy
anything
other than
the 12
hour shifts
soldiers 
children and
detainees that
were our
whole lives
at the
time but
I sometimes
wish we
had talked
about the
job and
all we 
saw the
blood and
dead civilians
the amputations
and burn
wounds the
dead and
the better
off dead
we saved 
for reasons
I still
question
every day
I wish 
I would 
have asked
what do
you think
home will
be like
after all
of this

and now
years later
when we
talk no
one ever 
says they
don’t sleep
or admits
to nightmares
or voices
or child
ghosts and
no one
says they
hide their
hands in
restaurants
afraid that
everyone
can still
see the 
blood and
I never
ask what
they say
to all
the people
who think
calling
them a
hero 
will make
all of
it just
disappear.
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