By Amanda Klejeski
for my brother The mortars fell I couldn't feel the explosion The sun fried bare skin I couldn't lick my chapped lips The darkness awakened demons I couldn't squeeze my eyes shut The foxholes crawled with fire ants I couldn't scratch and claw my arms into scabs The rifle magazine jammed I couldn't beat the cold metal into action The clouds spilled sheets of rain I couldn't curse the gray sky The machines of death stared me in the eye I couldn't beg and ask God I'm sorry I can't hear, Brother. I try to listen. I'm sorry.
Amanda Klejeski is a junior at Bemidji State, majoring in English and creative and professional writing. She hopes to someday publish a book, live in another country, and swim with dolphins. She is a lover of all things outdoors, especially riding her horse, Psyche.