Silent Casualty
The dust rises and you squint your eyes,
a storm of debris swirling
you back to sand dunes,
rocket launches, and IEDs.
Sounds become muffled
under all the yelling,
and I look to see if I can
see the enemy, too.
He must be nearby,
because your agitation grows,
tangibly filling the room
with wide eyes darting,
flushed skin,
and demands for immediate
assessments of perceived threats.
Grid-like coordinates
mulled over—scanning trips to the grocery store,
and why am I fifteen minutes late?
Constant explosions surround us,
and I start to lose my way.
Eyes fixed on me,
because no other enemy can be found,
I seek shelter inside a poem.
Copyright © Heather Chandler | Year Posted 2020
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