Terminal Leave

The unarmored
shoes she dons
leave space in the toe
for a soul. A phantom
hanging on her thigh
slips past
the mind’s
control.

Circles she’s in
wheel slowly.
She cracks jokes that go over
like lead.
The flag once borne
on a shoulder
now fatigues a frame
by her bed.

Eyes that once
were beside
watch her recede
into light; pills
the VA prescribed
count down
like rounds
in a fight.

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

Catholic Bishops’ Empty Moralizing

R. R. Reno

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops made an ill-considered intervention in the legal battle over birthright…

The Word Became Flesh and Picked Up a Hammer

Jacob Imam

A year and a half ago, the College of St. Joseph the Worker, a new Catholic trade…

“Ecclesiacide,” Then and Now

George Weigel

Pardon the Latin-rooted neologism, but if “patricide” works for murdering your father and “regicide” for taking out…