75 Years Later, What I Still Don’t Know

December 7, 2016.

At 8:00 in the morning, I’m enjoying an ordinary breakfast outside on the front porch: a bowl of muesli, hot coffee. I slip the dog a biscuit and watch the mist roll through the olive grove, preparing the way for the day’s sunshine. Except for a distant neighbor’s tractor, all is quiet.

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Crawling Uphill

I return to the same place in dreams. It’s the withering years, dust on dust, sand screaming out from underneath Osprey. Dawn just out, light coming in from Kandahar, glancing streamers off the Helmand. Metal, carved and curved, twisted into itself.

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