Jesse Manciaz

A Letter Never Sent

Dear Mom,

I got the package with the much-needed socks, the candy bars and razor blades,
and yes, I knew Andy was gay.

I won’t lie, it’s been hard, Mom.
How can I write about the darkness of today?
You ask how I’m doing as compared to how I was before?
I can’t even tell you who I am anymore,

but I’m alive, Momma. 

Today I walked through the gates of hell
and I don’t know the man that’s standing in my boots.
I’m not the same one you raised with so much love and care, brought up from
gentle roots. 

After the smoke cleared and the dust settled
my heart keeps on racing
After the clap of the last round fired
After the machine-gun spate its final empty casing 

Our perimeter was breached and the killing wasn’t from afar
It was hand-to-hand with a bayonet fixed on my rifle and a sharp Ka-Bar

But I’m alive, Mom, today I’m alive

At long last the fight is over and death pauses and exhales
Still, all the blood of another, crusts beneath my fingernails

Scarlet mud is drying on my face
They call it the “baptismal waters” of this dark and joyless place

I’m still standing

Briefly, I closed my eyes to draw peace from the dry-warm socks that you held
in your caring fingers
I hold them to my face and your warm scent faintly lingers

Just want you to know, I’m still alive

As I struggle to write this letter
with a trembling and bloodstained hand
in my mind, I see your eyes, your pretty wavy hair
and I taste your memory of a smile
I won’t be able to write again, Mom, it won’t be for a while

I love you, Momma

Your son