Gettysburg, July 3,1863 Poem by Laurence Overmire

The sun rose so quietly this morning
Gently waved the dark away
Green trees and blue sky I thought I’d never seen before
I smelled the dew upon the ground, kissed a blade of grass
Birds were singing
My God—singing
Coffee from the campfire made me think of home
Ma was in the kitchen in the farmhouse
Time to milk the cows
And for a few precious seconds I wasn’t where I was
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
Guarding the gates of hell.
The cold clank of steel quickly brought me back again
Gunpowder in my nostrils
Blood and rotting flesh
The moaning of the wounded
The dirge that will not end
My comrades sit around me
Something dead inside their eyes
Staring at the fire
Waiting...
There is no future for a soldier
The past is best forgot
So we bite into the hardtack and fix our bayonets.

The bugle sounds
Its shrill command
We are on our feet again
Step into formation, crouch behind a wall
Check my ammunition
Doesn’t seem like much
When you hold it in your hand
These lumps of lead
But mothers, wives and daughters, sons will lose their hearts today
A thousand Christmas mornings laid low in hot July.

There’s a mile of field before us
And a line of trees where the Rebs are hid
I used to plant in fields like this
Bring life out of the ground
But there’s a time for every season
Now it’s ashes to ashes and dust to dust, I reckon.
A puff of smoke and then another and
Damn we’re being shelled
Oh God, the noise
The noise
I cannot stop the noise
Oh God, don’t let me be hit
Oh God, don’t let me die
Oh God, Oh God!
The cannon just keep pounding
The cannon do not care
The cannon don’t remember
The cannon cannot die
Cannon left
Cannon right
Cannon in the center
Cannon up
Cannon down
Cannon in the middle
Cannon arm
Cannon leg
Cannon heart
Cannon brain
Cannon, cannon, cannon, cannon
Cannon
Cannot
Die…

Silence now.
Only smoke and blood and crying
The pall of death upon the air.

Look
The woods are moving
Look there
The woods
Gray
And moving
Moving
Slowly
Butternut
Moving
Flags
Waving
Moving
Steel catches sunlight
Glorious light
My God, what proud beauty
These are not men
Surely
These are strange gods
Heaven must have sent
Coming
Coming to kill me...

“Fire! ”
The gates of hell are open!
“Fire! ”
The shout rings sharp and clear
Guns answer guns
All is smoke and flame
And falling men
Fallen angels
Their ranks are crumbling, crushed and bleeding
Falling
Falling by the score
Limbs and earth are shattered
O proud death
You scream
Your bloody Rebel yell
AIIEEEEEAAAHHHHHHHHHH! ! ! !
Load and fire
Load and fire
My hands must move with speed
It’s him or me
It’s him or me
And one of us must die
Thousands dead, heaped in piles
Still they come, still they come
Stagger, limp, and bleed
Murder! Murder!
I am Murder! I am Death!
I am Murder! I am Death!
They’re running, coming
Here they come
Here they come
Over the dead, straight for the wall!
Goddam you, Reb
Goddam you
GODDAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM!
My bayonet goes through you
So
Easily
Do not look at me that way
You are my enemy
You are the foe
No do not
Do not forgive me
I have killed you
No do not
Do not die
Do not die
I have killed you
I have killed you
And you
You
You
Are
Me.

It’s cold here.
They say we won today.
I don’t know.
I don’t much care.
The sun will rise again tomorrow
But the blood won’t go away.
At least the night is quiet
The stars
The stars know more than I ever will.
There’s nothing left for me
Nothing more
Nothing
But to pull my blanket ‘round me
And sleep.
Sleep.

(Previously published in Mindfire Poetry Journal, Nov.1999)