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      June 22, 2014A Letter to Jani Larson on the Matter of Sgt. BergdahlKari Gunter-Seymour

      We love our sons.
      Raised them rich on farm land
      or city streets, or Hailey, Idaho.
      Taught them honor, to step up
      for right and good.
      Even so, it may prove true
      that your son is responsible for six deaths,
      though a spokesman for the Pentagon
      can’t confirm.
       
      As for my son, he stopped counting.
      Had to, lest he turn the weapon on himself.
      You’d be amazed how clearly
      a soldier can see his target
      through a military issue scope.
      Brown eyes, sometimes blue,
      a dark mole beside the nose,
      the awful realization defining
      each face a split second
      after squeezing the trigger.
      Hooah!
       
      It’s fight or flight.
      Some stay, some flee.
      Some get rewards,
      some come back alone,
      hauling body parts of friends
      in zippered bags,
      while people in the free world
      drink their lattes
      and complain.
       
      An admiral on TV today said
      when one of your shipmates
      goes overboard, you go get them.
      You don’t ask whether he jumped
      or was pushed or he fell.
      You go get them.
      That’s all well and good, admiral,
      but what are you supposed to do
      when the whole damn ship is sinking?

      from Poets Respond

      Kari Gunter-Seymour

      “I became a military mother in 2003 when my son deployed to Korea for a year, then immediately to Iraq for a second tour. The 503rd saw some of the worst combat of the war, losing a man or more a week during their year in Fallujah/Ramadi. I started journaling and writing poetry as a way to ‘talk’ to my son, as communication was sporadic. At that time, soldiers had to stand in line, sometimes for hours, to call home. I woke up each morning wondering if my son was alive. It was poetry, finding those few precious words to explain my fear and analyze my faith that kept me grounded, got me through.”

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