by Ann Bracken
Time unfurls like a faded banner
and drops me into a world of flim-flam
reasoning where ancient politicians
offer the same centuries-old fleecing techniques
to justify war.
I no longer labor to understand
Vietnam
with its random horrors, permanent scars
on people, on land, on psyches.
Images fuse to my heart
as I watch a few hours of Ken Burns�
latest epic.
An American soldier sits on a river-bank
his feet planted in the deep, black water.
He stares blankly, ignoring the upturned
face of a questioning toddler
who places a small hand on his knee.
And somewhere else in time
a young soldier flicks his Zippo
lighter and sets flame to a hut�
the family cowering on the ground,
covers their eyes and cries for mercy.
Time cleaves open an old lexicon�where
bodies count towards victory
and pacification destroys both hearts and minds.
Shame and powerlessness
burn my soul like napalm.