Letters from Iraq

This poem is dedicated to my sister, former Specialist Amethyste King and MP of the US Army who courageously and selflessly served our nation in Iraq during the war against Saddam.


Created in the image of our parents and God,
we were quite different from the beginning.
You grew, I grew.
You married your high school boyfriend straight after graduations
while I stayed single.
And then we both traveled more,
you with the military and I in Christian love and service.
You were still young when marriage number one ended
as you went into the arms of your comforter and became his wife a bit later.
Beloved sis, we traveled again.
This time with husband two from Ft. Carson, Colorado to Kuwait and Iraq.
I traveled onwards again to China.
Two lives diverged.

It's been years since that time, nearly a decade to be precise,
but our passions haven't waned, you for the military and me for Asia.
I've made it my goal for the rest of this year and the next to strengthen familial bonds.
And so, I've sat down now to acquaint myself with stories from your days in Kuwait and Iraq,
stories I know still affect you but ones I've never bothered to really learn.
I'm sorry sis. I love you. I must read on.

You've just entered Iraq, stability still in question.
Now at the airport in Baghdad. You're struck with how the people beg for MREs and would sell female soldiers
and how people love you there and even how the Iraqis are so bad off (as you put it)
that some purposefully get caught to go into EPW camps just so they can get fed, reunite with family, and be taken care of.
You say you'll do what you have to do when and if that time comes
and admit that sniper fire is near by.
The letters keep going to Mom and Dad as packages keep being sent from them and friends your way.
War and war-like strife changes you quickly in good ways and bad.
In May 2003, you begin to really open up to Mom and Dad about your dreams —
vet school, Craig's proposal, wanting to be a mom —
and your fears — not being a good parent, not knowing how to secure your first house, not making it home alive.
Honesty continues to flow as does anger and sorrow.
Later that month, the mosque lights go out as you're ambushed on patrol,
another humvee is attacked, and a double grenade carrying Iraqi woman is shot dead by your forces.
Iraq gets to you ... daily. You see a counselor,
but what really gets you through the struggles are the memories of family times past and the ones yet to be made
as you strive to make everyone proud with lots of love.
You're fighting for me sis. I love you. I must read on.

Three letters in June arrive quickly, mere days apart.
The first is filled with your and Craig's dreams for a house of your own in Colorado, a gourmet kitchen, and horses for you both.
Maybe I've just been a bit blind to it before, but this is the first letter I've seen full of such hope, such joy, such optimism.
The second letter, 3 June 2003.
The thwump of a baseball in mitts. The shared joy of the camp. The cool relief of a change in shifts.
Not a glimmer of hope but rays of it pelting me in the face this time.
It's good sis, really good!
Besides that, this letter is chock full of desire to soak up every minute you have left with family
as you project days rolling into years full of change and normal living.
You had your first CNN newsworthy assignments in the third letter.
Iraqi scientists who never arrived for the big wigs. Chauffeuring the Secretary of Defense Military Adviser around Baghdad.
You give up a Saturday with your squad to sort through the worth-its-weight-in-gold mail and
explain why teenage Craig infiltrated a Satanic cult and is jaded to Christianity.

It's mid-June now. 130 degrees and a new commander at Camp Victory.
Stupid rules. Hat on ma'am even if the weather is 150 outside and you're done for the day.
Possible United Nations take over in August. You'll hold your breath until you see it.
You vehemently enforced seat belt rules as an MP and consequently couldn't get water or use a phone.
How is that fair?
Is the divorce nearly over?
Iraqi beret and money coming your way soon!
Another letter arrives two days later. Stamped 17 June 2003.
Female Specialist Allen becomes the first to go back States-side. Don't quite get her story,
and you don't get why so many promises (especially for good changes and policies) keeping being broken.
You're so ready to be home with family and air conditioning.
If you only you could wake from this smelly, scorching, sculpting dream that is all too real.
Why didn't I know all this before? Where was I during all of these letters?
Realization hits me. Summer camp counselor at Dogwood Acres. I must read on.

It's late June now. The pictures and faces of home keep you going.
While you continue to serve in Iraq Grandma and Granddaddy Harvell celebrate 50 years of marriage.
Iraqi 5K run coming up soon for you and Craig.
Your letters continue to be brimming with love and thanks.
You call home and talk about Lance and Craig.
You admit you still care what Mom and Dad think of some choices you make like who you're marrying.
Earl's graduation on DVD is bittersweet.
You look forward to spending some time with him when you get to come home.
Awaiting magazines to peruse so that your new wardrobe reflects the side benefit of being in Iraq, maturity!
Yes, like it or not, you earned that maturity today while doing PT.
Bullets whizzing by ears. Body armor and M249. Home front defense. Fratricide.
Everyone now safe but demoralized.
This letter closes with dreams of hillbilly days at Mule Day and the National Peanut Festival.
Final letter this month. I'm impressed you were able to write nine!
You ask more questions about the family you left behind.
I'm so touched that you were so concerned about my Bell's Palsy.
We were both in the dark about it. By the first time I heard of it, I already had it.
I love how you write that even though we had our differences that you didn't like to hear of me having maladies.
Other health problems arise within our kindred.
Our grandparents get noticeably worse.
Granddaddy's weakened and losing his mind to Alzheimer's. Granmer's moved in with Little Granny and Big Daddy.
You want quality not quantity leave time ... whenever it finally comes.
You consider going to Texas or seeing Daddy get his PhD in person.
Looks like this journey is only halfway over by the stack of remaining letters. I must read on.

The letters continue into August with news that 10% of the US Senate has made a surprise visit with you as their escorts.
Also news that one of bin Laden's sons is possibly in your custody too at an EPW camp and rumors that Saddam Hussein had been spotted.
Craig picks up "The Terminator" from the airport while you scoff at the notion of shaking his hand for two minutes.
You break your PT record with a 293 and earn another patch for your Army uniform.
Some of the locals no longer are affectionate switching American gratitude with rock pelting.
You think of Blue Springs and miss family like crazy as you possibly barbecue on Independence Day.
The indefinite stay that began 9 April is now up to three months.
Craig's going to be a sergeant soon and you hopefully a specialist.
More dreams of vet school.
And yes, the divorce is all but final now.
Dad writes you next.
Craig has our parents' blessing as your husband-to-be. You have their acceptance and love and will make a good mother.
I don't know whether it's because I'm reading this post-divorce or what, but I'm pleasantly shocked at how you reach out to Daddy now in the letter.
You clearly express your love for him and even say that you've measured potential relationships with men on how they stand up against him.
I'm into another letter while you continue to shrink on the "Baghdad Fastbuster Program".
Soon your unit will be continuing that trend as as much as 20% of your people are shifted due to Stop Loss being lifted.
Ironic, isn't it?

You keep writing as mortars and guns keep going off.
Work continues to be the same --- old and boring.
Now you have to change subjects so you won't drool at reminiscent thoughts of San Marcos and The Old Ice House.
Pictures and more pictures
that congressmen take and you receive of your unit from earlier deployment days.
You just want to be home and have a normal, non-military life.
Yet, the long, hard, hot days carry on while you must dress in full uniform.
You wonder if others care more about appearances than soldier safety as some are turned away from meals because of "dirty" uniforms.
There's no one to replace you and the other Army MP's.
You, naturally, are quite irate as you long for the simple joys of childhood days like the Opossum Festival.
Finally after four months in Iraq, you get beat in to your new E-4 status, Specialist!
In other news, Spike the wild hedgehog was de-ticked by you and then ate his way to freedom during the night.
And those in the chow hall cower at you and other fellow MP's because your crew hands down wins the award for stinkiest military job!
A new letter. This one asking for help purchasing birthday gifts for Mama, Daddy, and little brother Earl turning 18.
A letter of a different kind. This one from Brigadier General Fruchtnicht thanking you for securely escorting him around Baghdad in July.

Forget about four months overseas. It's now September and you're up to five!
Pretty incredible sis! I know they've been five long, hot, lonely, miserable at times months.
So proud of you, and just now, I read in your email (a first!) that you're coming home,
after an Iraqi wheat field blazes brightly ... but you didn't start the fire.
You work hard keeping things secure and then run 20+ miles a week for PT among other exercises.
A few more emails now to all the family.
You look forward to doing things as a family again and are making it a tad bigger.
More emails exchanged with news that you'll be on a flight headed back to the US on 20 October. Right now you're emailing from Kuwait.
The journey closes with a letter from Kuwait. Craig misses you, but he's assured you'll be supported by our family.

Little sis, I'm proud of you. You sacrificed and served so bravely, so boldly for six long months.
We were both different people when these letters and emails were written, but I was a fool for waiting this long to read them.
I've been encouraged by the hope in your letters, how you kept dreams alive.
I want to grow closer to you sis. I hope that desire in your letters still burns brightly.
I want us to make it a reality one day at a time.

Creation, Fall, Redemption, & Renewal

You’ve always known me,
every single detail about me.

By your very breath you formed me Papa
just as you spoke the Andromeda into swirling existence.
And with each turn and gaseous sparkle from afar,
I am reminded that You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa.

Your beloved treasure, made for one another, no need for loneliness
because Papa, you were there ... but when sin joined in
You forced them out into a world forever changed to protect from eternal death.
Even in dark moments like this, You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa

When the pyramids were as young as Pharoah Snefru,
and your beloved people were slaves in Egypt
Until at last you gave them freedom, an Exodus way of life, a glint of shadowing Savior.
You’ve always known me, and I,
I love you, Papa.

And from hopeful glint among days long ago to God among us, Immanuel,
patiently You continue to sculpt us, refine us, renew us
Letting Your glory, Your kingdom, Your will shine radiantly upon our faces, our actions
And so, we, Your Church say, You’ve always known us, and we,
We love you, Papa.

My First Limerick

The hedgehog sat on the edge of the stoop
at the entrance of the grandiose, columned chicken coop.
     Pulled out all of his quills
     With an array of the oddest of squeals
until all of skin did nothing but droop.

Big Boy's Bait & Tackle

Down the small asphalt road just aways
    from my mama and step-dad's house
Lies the little bait and tackle shop, Big Boy's,
    which triples as roadside cafe and junior store
Quaint at first site, promptly turning my stomach
    like a ripe bucket of prawns long-lingered in the sun
My mother explains the could-be ZZ Top doppelgänger owner
    solicits and supports the local KKK
And that oft when sky goes dark and
    the final customers leave
That Big Boy's Bait & Tackle welcomes into its doors
    hate-laced prejudiced Klan members
To scheme the next attacks upon dark-skinned humanity
    My mind and heart are left appalled processing this scoop
And races to entertain thoughts of desired,
    chocolate lovers and friends still forbidden here
Alongside a multitude of reasons why I left
   The South and ecstatically adopted New York City as home
But then, my thoughts turn again
   How do I properly respond with love to this Klan leader?
For I become no different if I return hate
    with hate upon my fellow humanity
And so, I pray a prayer of blessing upon this establishment
    and smile in the brief moment I see melanin not hindering brother helping sister

How do you capture a moment?

How do you capture a moment?
With a photo — click, snap, ca-chink
Or by simply appreciating it
As I do now, peering out
My sheer pup tent window,
Golden amber hues juxtaposed
Against creamy blues and
Pale grays, the day's final rays
I take in with gratitude the slight easterly breeze,
Enjoying the divinity of it both in Creator
And feelings
The birds warble as they flit
Between the verdant oaks, pines, and magnolias
How serene and blissfully rustic
It is here beside the waters
Of Hale's Landing.

In Memory of Sunday

My love for you created tears, tears I know others shared,
     as we grieved for more joyful times with you
I had no idea I'd miss you this much beloved friend
     until you were gone forever into our Papa's arms
To some you were and are just a day of the week,
     but to me, dear friend, Sunday, you are an eternal inspiration
Your radiant smile always brightened any spot
     You entered with ease and your stylish pizazz showed us the way forward
I wasn't ready to see you go so quickly,
     and even in writing this I'm not sure I'll be able to completely process your death
But ... it's a necessary start

Sunday, thank you for being such a good friend
     You truly showed me Christ in every kind and encouraging word
You always brought such joy to my days with your zest for life
     and uplifted me with every prayer for our difficult circumstances
It's not just me that saw these qualities about you.  Others did too.
     And so, in your darkest times, we prayed for you, visited you in Texas
The aneurysm was too much to keep you here, but perhaps
     it will bring your family closer to one another as you wished, prayed, and worked for
Sunday, you are celebrated both in New York and now in Heaven
     Dance for the Father now above.  See you again assuredly one day friend.