THEY CALLBy 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.
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.
My husband served with John Stigner, who passed over on December 31, 2001. Did you know him?
ReplyDeleteI was wondering if you knew him as well...he was my father.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteI knew a John T. Stigner who was a veteran who lived in Phoenix. He and I were very good friends in the late 1970s. I attended his wedding to his wife, Brenda. I'm wondering if this is him. He also wrote a little book of poems called "Bellhops, Barrooms, and Ties that Flash Miami." I left Phoenix in 1986 but I've often wondered what happened to him. Is this the same guy?
ReplyDelete