My son is sitting
At the kitchen table
Talking about the textual structures
He learned about in school, or how
There is description and sequencing
Or cause and effect and
Problem and solution,
And how sometimes they overlap,
Overlap on top of one another to
Tell a story, he says.
And I am taking plates out of the sink
And putting them in the dishwasher,
Telling my son that
Words are like worlds,
How you have to walk around them
To see, I say, to see what they mean,
And I am looking for paper,
A piece of paper,
So we can make a list, I tell him,
Opening a notebook,
My husband’s, or how
I see it,
His handwriting and the words
Police and range and shooting
And how I know,
I know now, know
That this is mandatory training,
That he is going to go back,
And that
Going back will be more, more
Than what he has described to
Me, rolling over, in our bed,
To face me, saying,
It is safe, and how
It is only a week, or
Maybe two,
And he is telling me how
He does not see problems
In Afghanistan, how he sees
Solutions instead, and how
He wants to make a difference,
And I say, yes, tell him,
I understand, that I understand
That he has to go, because I do.
But I can picture it again,
The sequence of war,
The order of how he
Will put on his uniform,
The camouflage uniform,
The boots and body armor,
A belt around his waist or
How he will carry it, carry
The gun they will give him,
The M9,
A pistol,
That he will wear on his belt,
The one he will shoot, shoot,
Shoot if he has to,
At close range, or
What it means,
The roads and the cars and
The bombers and the IEDs,
The cause or the effect of it,
All the danger and the death,
How I do not know anymore,
Which comes first, and
How words are like that,
The words we say and
The ones we don’t,
How sometimes, sometimes
Words can mean more than
One thing,
And I am turning towards him,
Our son, with a piece of paper
In my hand, saying I am ready,
Or how, later, I will turn the knob
To the door of our bedroom, and
How I will try to turn on the light,
And when it does not turn on,
I will feel my way through this,
The darkness of it,
The structure of
This moment we have not had yet,
Where I am climbing into our bed,
Whispering where are you?
Wife and War 