poem

A Soldier's Christmas
By Michael Marks

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight;
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest. Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight;
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
In perfect contentment or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear;
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near;
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold;
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light,
Then he sighed and he said "It's really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night.
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line
That separates you from the darkest of times;
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
"My Gramps died at 'Pearl' on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram' always remembers;
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam,
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
"I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile;"
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue ... an American flag.
"I can live through the cold and the being alone
Away from my family, my house and my home;
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
"I can carry the weight of killing another
Or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To insure for all time that this flag will not fall.
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least
Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
"For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."
Michael Marks
December 7th, 2000

The Dead Equipment Graveyard: a childhood memory

            We rented the field next to my house. My Mom’s business grew so much that we needed turn-out space for the horses. I always hated when my pony was turned out in the rental field because there were lots of spooky shadow spots for him to go. For him he was just looking for shade, but to me, every walk out to that dusty field had me hoping that he would be right by the gate so I wouldn’t have to test my bravery. One place in particular was the “dead equipment graveyard” It was in the far corner of the field, piled with rusty parts, deflated tires, and an old bobcat that had traded out its bright yellow paint for an aged metal—creepy is what it was.

            It was a pretty day as I opened the gate, halter swung over my shoulder, lead rope dragging on the ground due to my short stature. I shut the gate behind me, looking for my small bay devil. Where could he be?

            I spotted his black spiky mane in the far corner, the worst corner that he could possibly be seeking shade. He was in the graveyard. I walked over, dragging my black boots in the dust. The zippers of my boots were undone, like usual. I usually only zipped them up when I rode. I got closer, forgetting to hide my halter behind my back. Spirit generally ran away from me. I used to get so mad at him. “I saved you from dog food!” I would yell at him in my fierce nine year old voice. He knew I saved him, I think he just liked to remind me that he wasn’t to be taken for granted.

            So there I was in the graveyard all because my brat pony wanted to remind me he was in control. I started to turn around to see where Spirit had trodden when something moved in the corner of my eye. I froze. My heart was pounding. This graveyard is the absolute worst place on Sledge Road! I looked up at the aged Bob Cat, the perfect place for something terrible to lurk. There was a creature looming there, proud atop his bitter Bob Cat beacon.

            I’ve never ran so fast in my life.