What the War Was Not
By Kate Gaskin
1.
Letters, weeks filing past
between them, long-necked like vees
of geese. Which outpost?
Which outpost? You pouring sand
from your boots, your damp shirt
like another skin against
your skin. You didn’t bring back
photos of the confetti
bombs made of the building’s
rebar. I never had to imagine
the child’s foot severed
in the roadway. You never flinched.
I never waited by the phone
for a year to catch
a few ten-minute calls lobbed
like baseballs from across the sea.
2.
Omaha like Hoth like the ice
castles of Erhenrang, tunnels of it
white white
in the morning sun, the graveyard
beside our house unmoored
headstones in a pale
body, undone. You somewhere
in Anbar swatting at flies
on the flight-line. Just outside
the gate, a father
pushing his son in a wheelbarrow,
the back of his head
just gone.
3.
I didn’t receive your letters
sweetheart sweetheart
sweetheart. You didn’t leave
me at the airport
on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t fall
and hit my head
on the toilet baby’s cries baby’s cries
or peer over hospital sheets,
IV lines, our friends holding
our son. There was no mastitis, no
antibiotic regimen, no mammograms,
no needles drawing fluid
from my breasts. You were not
beside a dumpster behind Taco
Bell. You did not
tremble in the desert.
You did not beg
me to stay.
4.
I woke up on Bayou St. John
beneath the live oaks
and frisbees, the baby
asleep in his car seat. I nursed
in the cab
of my father’s truck and read
your letters.
You said
you’d seen the inside
of a heart, the inside
of two cows, the red inside
of your eyelids
illuminated near-pink,
those mornings in your tent
when sleep left you.
5.
There were no men
in service dress walking up
the front steps to our house
in Omaha, no house,
no baby, no bedroom
lit blue from snow, no chilies
ground fine
in bowls. There was no
flag, no thirteen-fold, or sheep
skinned and drained
into buckets. You weren’t
over a radio
tower in your plane
with no
ejection seat, no parachute
your radio radio. The streets
of the market
were not damp with blood.
The streets of the market
were not.
—
About Kate Gaskin
Kate Gaskin's poem "What the War Was Not" won first place in our 2017 Pinch Literary Awards. Due to a formatting error in our journal, we've made the poem available online so that everyone can read this exceptional poem in its fully realized state.