Vets Day Poem: 'And The Wall Presses Back'

THEY CALL

By John Stigner

As we descend
the stone-block path
they call
and we are drawn to them.

We touch The Wall and
The Wall touches us.
And from within they call,
they call, they call.

We press our fingertips into
and slowly trace
the chiseled names
the names of those who call.

And The Wall presses back,
its black granite slabs
absorbing like blood
drunk by Khe Sahn's thirsty dust.

We see ourselves reflected
in its polished panels,
our hears draped
in bandoleers of grief,
and for a time
become part of it
as those whose names we trace
were a part of us.

"Are a part of you!" the call
as we reflect upon The Wall.
"We'll always be a part of you,"
they call.