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| | Combat Nurses Tribute at the Vietnam War Memorial | |
From the Battlefields
She carries water to the battle ground,
with willow bark and comfrey leaves.
Calls the stretcher bearers and their kin,
“One’s alive! Bring him in.”
She holds their hands, hears their prayers,
writes letters to their distant homes. All
begin: “Hello, Mother. Hello, Dad.
Don’t be sad. I’ll be back by Spring.”
At night she stitches socks and shrouds,
rolls long white cotton strips. Checks
her stores for whiskey drams and laudanum
to ease what pain she can.
She too dreams of going home to quiet
and to green. To fields and trees untouched
by war, where brooks run clear and clean.
She writes her letters with faint hope:
“I’ll see you in the Spring.”
with willow bark and comfrey leaves.
Calls the stretcher bearers and their kin,
“One’s alive! Bring him in.”
She holds their hands, hears their prayers,
writes letters to their distant homes. All
begin: “Hello, Mother. Hello, Dad.
Don’t be sad. I’ll be back by Spring.”
At night she stitches socks and shrouds,
rolls long white cotton strips. Checks
her stores for whiskey drams and laudanum
to ease what pain she can.
She too dreams of going home to quiet
and to green. To fields and trees untouched
by war, where brooks run clear and clean.
She writes her letters with faint hope:
“I’ll see you in the Spring.”
~
I hope to add my voice to those who chronicle and challenge us to consider what war truly means — now and into the future. I hope my readers sense the timelessness, universal sorrow and regret that shapes our human experience through the intimacy of one unknown woman’s day.
Her day could be anywhere and anytime, any place throughout the ages: The trenches of France in 1917. American Civil War battle grounds like Gettysburg or a country lane in Maryland. Ireland. India 1947. Any country fighting off colonial powers.
In reality, our world history is one of continual, constant war.
