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Contests : War Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2007 : Pan Morigan
NAPALM
I was the same size as her
She was naked and wailing
Running barefoot on a dirt road
Somewhere in Vietnam
I was the same age as her
We had skinny legs—
Skinny arms—
She was running, skin plucked
Hands flapping
That's Napalm, daddy said
It burns
I could feel my own skin peeling off
Crusting between my fingers
Her cries went into my chest and stayed
I whispered
"Climb into my tum' an' hide,"
Then I was with child, my insides cramping
We went to the antiwar march
Women were painting signs to hold up
"Mine is in the infantry, stationed around Da Nang"
Said one with a lisp
"And me, I ain't heard from mine in three months" said another
Her red Afro was fire around her face
Storm-struck birds bashed by the window
The wind was hard and the rain would not come
"Bring my husband home"
is what she painted on her placard
"Yeah, sister," somebody said
The ladies finished their signs and faced the street-door
Patting their hair, biting their lips, adjusting their scarves
They looked scared
I read the signs. They all said the same
Bring my husband home
The red-haired lady clung to hers two-handed
Beneath her freckled skin, universes throbbed—
A husband at war
In the country of burning children
I thought I should carry a placard too
I took up a magic marker to write my words
"Bring my husband home"
I wrote in big letters
The ladies giggled amongst themselves
I didn't know why I was funny
I had become them
I marched in the protest
Some people pointed, shook their heads
Nobody had told me I was separate from others
My blood was apart
My bones were apart
I walked down the dusty road
Naked and screaming, skin on fire
My husband was missing
And I was with child
Though I was only eight
Police came, night-sticks ready
The crowds shifted and tumbled
Hearts, spades, clubs, diamonds
Like banded together with like
Somebody threw a rock
It hit my mouth and I still have the scar
Women jabbed their placards at the swollen sky
I realized, I have no husband.
One two three. A,B,C
You are you, not me, not she—
Skin ripped from skin
Mind ripped from mind
Heart sliced apart from heart
They taught me well when I was eight
Ripped me from my burning sister
Made me a murderer
We two were abandoned
To wander an empty road
Screaming
This poem won an Honorable Mention in the 2007 War Poetry Contest sponsored by Winning Writers. Author Pan Morigan received a $100 award. Copyright is reserved to the author.
About Pan Morigan
Pan Morigan is a Canadian/American singer and songwriter who inhabits numerous worlds and speaks in many tongues. In 2007 she won the Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellowship in Music Composition for her genre-bending songs. She performs hither and yon as a solo vocalist/multi-instrumentalist. She has worked as a singer for other artists as well, including NEA-winning playwright Andrea Hairston and jazz artist Bobby McFerrin. She's always written poems (because some thoughts cannot be sung) but only recently begun sending them into the world to fend for themselves.
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