Ia Drang
14 - 17 November 1965
In a glade,
Sun-gnawn,
Two anthills
Flower,
Over the Mountains of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
West past Plei Me,
LZ X-ray
By
Chu Pong.
And my jungle boots,
Between,
Weightless, as possible,
Hover,
Gravity
The only foe
Now,
Hover
And
Pass over
Tropic-blazed forms,
But a while ago
My friends.
Heel to toe
I step,
As though
They
Are now shape-shifters,
Mines,
Set for my ruin.
But to defile
Their Fraternity of Death
By a presence,
Breathing,
Unbloodied,
Uninitiated,
Therein lies my fear.
They are still,
Yet appear to struggle,
A frieze Death-sculpted,
Shimmering at my feet,
Some cool rest
Their seeming object
Now.
All in vain,
For
They are not here
And these forms,
From selves disjoined,
As well the shrubs on which they lie,
Are
Now
No more,
No less,
Than thatch
That bowers
The roof
Of
Hell.
by David J. Ladouceur
... who is a teacher and historian, and has previously published
creative writing in this magazine, as well as non-fiction in
professional journals. He is currently working on a novel,
After the War, set in the early 1950's which deals with a
veteran who returns from the conflict and shares not only his
stories but his ghosts with his son. Born into a military family,
Dr Ladouceur is the son of a jungle scout who served in the
Pacific Theater from Pearl Harbor through the end of World War
Two.
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