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Dan (Danny) Roark
USMC Sgt. 1963-67
by Dianne K. Roark
I stand on the outside, looking in,
I catch just a glimpse of the ghost.
He catches himself before he’s exposed,
Lest he shares that which matters most.
If eyes are the windows to the soul,
Then his are broken panes–
Edges still sharp after thirty-some years,
He takes cover whenever it rains.
Lightening and thunder hold memories
That I can never share–
And neither can ANYONE understand,
Unless, of course, you were there.
“Kool-Aid” and fireworks, drinks from a can,
Loud noises, quick moves, a strange smell,
Still hold him captive in Vietnam–
Will he ever break free from the spell?
Without a word they send messages
To buddies they’ve never met.
He’ll give me a nudge and say, “For sure
That guy is a Vietnam Vet.”
It must be the look through those broken panes
That identifies them one to another….
Some secret code known only to them,
Translated: “Welcome home, Brother!”
Post Traumatic Wife Syndrome*