We are All the Parents of our Soldiers: American Red
By Robert M. Katzman © August 27, 2021
Long time ago
My family immigrated
To America
No one spoke English
All were part of
Our mysterious religion
Hated on both sides
Of the Atlantic
All four thought
America
The better bet
*
Soon
Some went right back
As American soldiers
Spoke the new language
Well enough
To fight for their
New country
*
By War’s end
Everyone knew
Everyone’s blood
Was the same color:
American Red
*
I am a
Son of a Soldier
Nephew of a Soldier
Very close Friends
With two Soldiers
More like Brothers
No, they are
My Brothers
All I could do
Was read about
All their Wars
*
When
Now so long ago
America called me up
For yet another War
Then turned me away
Said I was damaged
I was too damaged
To serve
Not acceptable
For the US Army
*
Stunned —
I was a
Damaged teenager?
Others might
Have been thrilled
“Ya missed a bullet!”
They’d say, and laugh
*
Some marched in protest
Some left my country
Never an option for me
I was my Father’s son
I was a Soldier’s son
*
I was deeply
Embarrassed
Not good enough
For my country’s Army
For my Immigrant’s Army
For my Father’s Army
For my Uncle’s Army
For my Friend’s Army
Even tho’ most of them
Were eventually
Damaged, too
*
None of them
Were more
“American”
Than I was
None of them
Were braver
Than I was
Likely
All of us were
Equally terrified
*
But we would
Always be
Forever different
They were Soldiers —
I was not
*
Cancer at 18
Was never my
“Get out of Jail Free!” card
I was cut open
Many times
Dozens of times
Long after
The others’ Wars
Ended
Didn’t make any difference
Not to me
They were Soldiers —
I was not
*
But their stories
So many stories
Filled my mind:
Their loneliness
Their fear of battle
Their fear of being wounded
Their wounds
Their friends who died
Their friends who came home
Far more damaged
Than I was once
Than I am now
*
My strange “patriotism”
Is uncomplicated
I understand
All the history
I’ve read about
The million wars
The unquestioned
Insanity
Of almost any war
*
I don’t “love” my country
My country is
Stone, sand, water
Earth, trees, soil
Mountains, valleys, deserts
My country is a thing
*
What I do love
Is that people from
One hundred countries
Came here
Joined together
Built towns, cities
Created railroads
Created a nation
From
One hundred million
Strangers
*
We don’t all
Love each other
Far too many
Don’t even
Like each other
Unless we’re attacked
As a nation
Then we all transform
Into Americans
*
More of an idea than
A race, religion or a people
While a war is on
We fight for each other
In essence
We want to be free
To mistreat each other
Hate whom we choose
Keep the Rich
Richer
The Poor
Poorer
Until the War ends
All the rest evaporates
*
Only Americans can
Mistreat Americans
The rest of you
Beyond our borders
Beyond our shores
Watch it!
*
However horrible we
Are to each other
We’re somehow
Still a family
Still one people
*
But the Soldiers
Individually
They don’t choose
Their wars
They don’t hate
Whoever
The other Guys are
They go where
They are sent
They die where
They are sent
Then silence
Forever
*
And as I became older
As I had my Children
As I learned
From afar
Always from afar
Other Parents’
Children dying in battles
Other Parents’
Children blown up
To the sky
Like
Faceless Firecrackers
Like
Casualties of the Moment
Transformed into
Statistics
*
Something strange
Happened to me
I felt their loss
Like being stabbed
In my heart
Like they were
My Sons
My Daughters
American Children
From many countries
One hundred countries
All of them bleeding:
American Red
*
That is what it always
Boils down to
As the years pass
The Wars fade away
Forgotten
But not in the Families
Whose Children
Black, White, Brown, Olive
Colors don’t mean a thing
Religion doesn’t mean a thing
Politics don’t mean a thing
All those faraway graves
Filled with their Children
Who grew up
To die for America
Across the Centuries
Their many veins bleeding
Joining together
Into a vast Sea of:
American Red
***********************