by Samantha Lê

1. 
four years 
	the only control I’m allowed 
	is my breath without 

geography my life 
	spins like helicopter blades 
        trapped in stasis 
	
each day ends 
	the same purple sun 
	inflames the desert floor 

colors trickle 
	little-by-little but 
	only beige touches my head 

2. 
trouble was no one 
        died today I waited 
	and trouble rose from the sand 

trouble crawled 
        through my dark heart 
        at the end of our conversation 

I returned 
        to Al Anbar still wanting 
        to walk with you 

down Music Row 
        on the West End of Nashville 
        and show you how I still have 
           a face 

3. 
I miss the sounds 
        of people laughing Budweiser 
        sauerkraut red dirt the national 
           anthem 
	
seventh inning 
        stretch the room to extend 
        sleep with unbent knees 	

instead I live 	
        inside warped minutes 
        body strained ready to jump 

to answer explosions 
        and tally up kills the desert suffers 
        but doesn’t remember 

4. 
honey you sent 
        me off to pick another fight 
	preoccupied with thoughts of you 

your bare shoulders 
	bold calves heart beating 
	like fluttering wings 
	
mouth like a bee hive 
	warm against my chest 
	how can I go on 
	
pulling triggers 
	when there’s you 
	signaling the way home 

5. 
in the light 
        I can’t love you 
	your voice your poetry 

there’s sunlight 
	and there’s you people kill 
        each other in the light 
	
but each night 
        I scramble through darkness 
	and return to the sounds 

of you slipping off 
	my sand-bitten boots sliding 
        lonely hands under my camo 

 
6. 
in my dream 
        there’s only you and I 
        at the sidewalk café 

your kidney bean hair 
	caresses my face promises 
        marked undeliverable 
	
barely conscious 
        I’m broken raw ground into dust 
        sand in my mouth 

my words 
        like thistles forcing their way 
        through an ancient thirst 

___

First published in Third Wednesday (Gravity Presses (lest we all float away), Inc.), Ann Arbor, MI, Vol. VIII, Issue No. 2, Spring 2015, pp. 58-60.