Footfalls On Ieds Poem by Aaron Graham

I thought I was out, was home, that I was free.

Thought id paid my debt, to home, to god, and country.

But part of my soul was sold to the sands,

Just to survive. I part I couldn’t see.

Till I’m home, was with my girl, and brushed strands

Of beads hanging in her door, or smell a spice or incense

and deep-desert-contact freeze. I’ve heard coffin nails dropp since.

They sound like shell casings, or footfalls on I.E.D.s