May 2022
Bio Note: While I grew up as a young teen during the Viet Nam war and my uncle served two tours, I have not brought my work on his PTSD and resulting agent orange disabilities into focus yet. I am only just beginning to understand and document the ramifications of the American Civil War on the trajectory of my family.
Ten years ago, I met and married a retired army medic, soldier, and sargeant. Some of these poems capture microscopic snippets of learning to understand the trauma generated by serving in three combat zones. My husband created and runs The Hero's Outreach Project (HOPe), a non-profit to prevent veteran suicide.
Ten years ago, I met and married a retired army medic, soldier, and sargeant. Some of these poems capture microscopic snippets of learning to understand the trauma generated by serving in three combat zones. My husband created and runs The Hero's Outreach Project (HOPe), a non-profit to prevent veteran suicide.
What If Wednesday
We were yakking over scalding black coffee about linking QR codes to soldiers’ stories— about who could write and curate the stories— about museums turning away footlockers of weapons & historic war memorabilia because they store caches of it in their basements & what is missing are the stories of dead warriors. We were talking about how to block memory quilts from old t-shirts & next Monday is Memorial Day when Pam remembered she forgot the book on tinnitus. I’ll try to get that to you, she said. Maybe on a Wednesday. & I laughed. Because what if Wednesday were tentative as possibly, optional as extra credit, a real maybe day? Just woke up foggy after tip toeing home late from Tuesday, faced into a cracked mirror & said, Nope. What if Wednesday made other plans or needs a vacation like Saturday (except for Saturdays with minimum wage jobs who work weekends), or took up its namesake’s vocation as Lord of Frenzy? What if Wednesday born of woe, acted out as the overshadowed middle, developed avoidant attachment style, & ran away? Or played childish pranks like a one-eyed white-bearded god? Or retired to resume wandering Midgard in the company of wolves & ravens? Or demanded we learn to correctly pronounce all 170 iterations of its name? Or eloped with Friday? What if Wednesday caught COVID at the office, & miffed for being mistaken as Mercury, & weary of Hebrews Christians & Muslims bickering about whether it is the third or fourth day of the week, & still pissed from all the annoying hump-day jokes, said, to hell with all you SOB’s! & checked itself into an ER, refused a ventilator, & expired in peace? What if we were barred a final visit? Would we miss it? Weekly thanking gods for Friday, have we slighted Wednesday? Could we leap from Tuesday to Thursday over Wednesday’s dead body? What if Wednesday went to war & didn’t make it back, or did, all blown apart & scarred, an hour here, a mangle of minutes there. What if Wednesday were fickle & unreliable as Monday & war are certain.
Originally published in Spillwords March 9, 2022
©2022 Shelly J. Norris
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