Lou J. Klaiber

OH!… VIETNAM!

The night
has a way
of awakening
the old stories…

yet no one is here
… or there.

So we tell them to ourselves.

The days
break
like precious clay
upon the floor of today,

… in memory
of yesterday.

We float the dreams
of ourselves
upon a stormy sea
called ‘everyday’,

… and a sky filled
with stars
that do not remember themselves
as shining,
at night.

We carry bold scars
of a war.
Flesh of history… torn
ragged and rough
… known only to women
who touch us
… within the silence
of our nights.

Our lives have disappeared
into night dreams,
and sudden screams,
of memory lost
within the new day
that sleeps alone,
somewhere.

Wide eyed
as a child
crying!

Everything remains,
as we cry aloud
and are born to ourselves
again.

Oh! Vietnam!