Maybe you will.

Maybe you will always think about it,

As we drive down I-95 on a weekend

Through states that are American and

Familiar and comforting with strip malls hanging

Off the sides of the highway likes fluorescent trees,

This constant reminder that it is over and you are home.

Maybe it does not matter if you tell me the whole story

Or what I say to you or how much I tell you that you can’t.

You cannot carry it anymore, maybe it will never matter.

Maybe this highway will always be that highway, the one

With you in your unarmored Jeep driving the Death road

Out of Kabul, next to a vehicle matching the description

Of a VBIED, sticking to your left side, and not letting go,

Like something was going to happen, like this was it,

Your turn, your day to die, and how you cut off traffic

Flying off to the right, onto the shoulder, putting a truck

In between you and the bomb that maybe, maybe went off,

And maybe the driver, the man in the truck in between,

Maybe you will never forget him, no matter what I say,

No matter what.

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5 Responses to Maybe

  1. Elizabeth says:

    I discovered your blog through WWP on Twitter. Your poetry is amazing, if “amazing” is the word to describe the tightening in my throat and the tears that are stinging the backs of my eyes. Thank you for sharing.

  2. susanna says:

    Amalie – thank you so much for pointing me to your blog. I am deeply touched and very impressed with your ability to express yourself! Thank you for sharing ‘yourself’ with the world. That takes a lot of courage.

  3. Amy says:

    very powerful poems — the terror of the war in the kitchen, missing someone who is right next to you. Thank you.

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