I watch my lover as he goes
in combat gear
hefting a heavy load -
his pack, his gun,
ammunition and ‘rations’.
I watch him, I watch my lover as he goes
in desert gear, I watch as he climbs
aboard the Chinook
twin propellers whipping the
air to wind and dust to air.
But I cannot watch him, watch my lover
as he goes.
He chose to leave me,
he chose not to love me (a while ago) ,
he chose to go to war.
I cannot watch him as he goes.
We aren’t allowed,
we civilians.
We lovers of the peace-time fighters.
We hold them in our hearts ‘til their return
we hold our pain within when they never do
we hide our despair when a box returns in their stead
we hide our fear when parts are missing
when they come home to us.
I watch him, I watch my lover
as he marches proudly down
the streets of his old home town.
I watch him, I watch my love
and I cry as another woman welcomes him home.
I leave before he sees me, sees my tears
and understands what went before
remains the same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem