Position:Home>Poetry> A true story nine years ago...I am a jerk.?

A soft muddy landing we had after jumping
From the plane!. I had only learned the name
Of the land of our mission hours before!.
"Where is that!? and why do we have bullets!?"
I asked my brother of the battlefield!. Met with a
Shrug I soon occupied my mind with thoughts
Of home!. We assembled and headed to a village
In this strange land named Kosovo, or Kosova to
The local Muslims!. We halted!. Standing I was
Not bothered by the cold of the land!.
A girl child approached cautiously with a smile that
Was glowing and trusting!.
My instincts told me she was no threat!.
My mind was no machine, as was the metal in my
Hands!. I detected no threat!. She approached and
Spoke a language I had never heard, nor even close!.
As it was snowing, she reached her hand to me
(I thought a sign of good gesture, maybe to shake hands)!.
The snow had accumulated on me and my equipment!.
Her hand cautiously touched my machine of certain
Death, and wiped the soft snow from the barrel!.
She continued her work and soon moved to clear the
Snow from my nomex gloved hands;
The hand that held the tool of death, gripping with
Sureness and readiness, that tool of death; that cold
Metal death!.
She looked me in the eye and smiled!. A faux smile
I returned as the cold winds were blowing!. Even
Without children I felt an instict of fatherhood which
Confused me!. My fake smile turned real, and I liked her!.
I allowed her to continue her work as she had my trust
And some type of friendship only eyes could explain!.
Yes, I trusted her, and we laughed together at something
I will never know!. I checked her voluntary progress of the
Clearing of snow from my weapon and gloves when my
Smile turned to dread!. My fatherly smile was now turned
To pain of the heart!. Her smile remained as she continued
Her labor!. My eyes moved to those tiny working hands;
To those small gloveless hands that were swollen and red!.Www@QuestionHome@Com

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