Dog Tags

A poem I wrote in poetry class about a young woman waiting for her soldier to come home and trying to avoid worrying about the negative.

When you left for Iraq, I clutched

my dad’s dog tags so tight the worn words

etched themselves backwards into my hand.

He had always rubbed them for good luck when

he was like you, a Marine, a stubborn bulldog.

 

“War changes you,” my dad told me,

“More than you change it.”Then he went on

to tell stories about his war, how he fought

Charlies and what burned flesh and rice

smelled like. All of what he said

scared me, gave me a sickly feeling

 

that colored my face the same yellow

as the ribbon I tied around

the old maple for you to find your home

when you came back,

 if you came back.

 

When your rusty red Ford pulled into

the driveway, I was afraid you would come home

like my dad did when he returned—a carved stone

jaw with a matching stare. I watched you smile

at the gift-wrapped tree, your eyes creasing

at the corners. I heard the clink on the pavement

and saw I had dropped my dad's dog tags.

Author's Note

Didn't know if I should have filed this under romance or military/war, so I just went with the second in hopes that it won't be the only one of its kind there. Plus it could also be used as a reference to a brother coming home since there is no obvious signs of romantic chemistry involved with the couple.

Reviews

[Gabriella]

Thank you for sharing this amazing piece, I wouldn't change a thing. I was immediately drawn to it because my brother is off to Iraq in a few days and that is part of the poem I just wrote. The third stanza is the best part in my opinion, definitely gives me chills.