My Dearest

MY DEAREST

The kerosene lamp is the only light
I have to write under, my dearest one.
The moon lies hidden behind thickening clouds,
Along with the stars, the planets, the galaxies.

I lean my cold back against this ancient pine
And its scent reminds me of Christmas past
When we gathered together before the hearth
Feeling the heat of the flickering flames .

Do you remember me, my dearest?

A sharp wind blows and my threadbare jacket
Lets in the cold air as though it were a sieve.
My muscles twitch and I momentarily shiver
The gust passes, I return to the letter.

We met in the church one frozen Sunday
When the river ran beneath jagged sheets of ice
Your face slightly pink, the white ribbon in your hair
Pressed down by the green hat knitted
By your grandmother as she rocked in the rocking chair
Saturday afternoons in the parlor as you played piano.

Do you recall, my dearest?

Snow falls as I write these words on this paper
Snow flakes melt as they strike the lamp
My exposed fingers yearn for the gloves lost
Yesterday in battle with other men
No different than me, aside from uniforms,
Geography, political inclinations.

I killed a man yesterday with my bayonet
Before he could reload his musket
A scream did not issue forth from his lungs
No, just a sudden inhalation of air
A stagger on his feet, his fingers clutching
The end of my musket as if a rope
To save him from the claws of death
Upon his last breath he laughed
And diminished into a corpse in the snow.

Can you forgive me, my dearest?

This war continues in earnest much like an illness
Infecting all participants with justifiable homicide
Lines on a map drawn, erased, redrawn,
Plans for incursions, acts of diversion,
A deadly game played by those of rank,
Immune to moral implications.
I do admire them, those chests adorned with medals,
Those faces fixed in stone.

Do you have any idea, my dearest?

It is my connection to you that buoys me
Above the filth around here, the corpses,
The corporals, the sergeants, the generals,
The latrines, the stale loaves of bread.

Fourteen days have passed since last
Touching this quill, and I must tell you
To release yourself from me
For I am not the man you knew before.
I enjoy the killing now, I relish the blood,
I inhale deeply the smell of death as if roses
Spread across the fields I walk.
Into darkness my feet have led me,
In league with Mephistopheles am I.
My greatest fear is that this blessed war will end,
Leaving me with loaded musket only
What utterly lonely days will those be.

Bury me now, dearest one.
I am dead and there will be no resurrection.
Jesus cannot, and will not save me
From the beast I have become.
Just this morning I slashed the throat
Of an enemy soldier dying in the bush
Because his screams of agony
Had given me a headache.
Yes, for a simple headache I killed a man.

Oh, do forget me, my dearest.