The Thin Line…inspired by Terrence Malick

I

It is true

I admire the beauty

of a woman’s breasts

rose buds, the sensual curve

to peaked mountains

nipples standing erect

against the open sea.

II

Even searching my memory

back thirty years

to a ship steaming from Japan

across black waters

to tiny Vietnam

I remember well -

nights bursting with stars.

III

Crossing over an ocean

stuffed with adventure

so alive at twenty one -

a witness to our expanding galaxy

above the full horizon -

the breath of a dark angel

on my mouth – then as now.

IV

Sucked out

as the first incoming rockets

crash indiscriminately - killing

into our compound -

fathers, brothers and sons

I am lifted out of my bed by concussion

twisted pure and brutal.

V

That first image

of death draws me back -

like a single flower in a vast field

alone with the wind

blowing, moving – then still again

stem bent

by invisible fingers.

VI

There was that moment

of recognition -

as a startled quail bolts -

then drops, shot from the blue sky,

breast heavy with pellets

life slipping away

before our eyes.

VII

It was moving

as your vision

of sweeping blades of grass

covering the round

bosomed hills streaming bullets

of dark red blood

into boys running

on their death day.

O tears, I lay waiting

for that hot smothering kiss

to be born again

and in that last breath

of blood and metal and mud

there is smoke -

and a fire burning.

VIII

My love -

you were there with me -

in the heat of my heart,

and the night - sharing my loneliness

terrified of death and his messenger

coming in nightmares

haunting my bones.

IX

This confession is mine.

I am the one

who comes crying -

tears in my eyes,

with the hope of experiencing miracles

I am singing my country tis of thee

sweet land of lost legs and arms.

X

There is a silence

when death stops bleeding

it is in my heart -

there is a desperation

floating in the mist

with a lost friend

laughing - in one’s memory.

XI

Your ancient alligator has

washed up from some silent river.

What do his eyes see?

I have misplaced the desire

to hold her,

to be held.

in her arms.

XII

I receive your mother’s letter

there is a sad relief - yet

a deep unbearable sorrow.

I still see her face, happy, laughing -

the little grin, the wrinkles tend,

to go away from us

with his baby - and your broken promises.

XIII

There is no anger,

not this far from the truth.

I shiver momentarily, feeling the rain -

the monsoons of Chu Lai,

fall on thin tin metal roofs -

on beer cans and rough canvas.

The smell of shit burning is in my nose.

XIV

O my soul,

you are drifting

and my memory is melting away

I am seeing you again

with closed eyes and

the once soft cheeks -

death is the mystery

that finally brings us together,

all strangers – all lovers.

J.E. Dorsey – aka Doug Claybourne

Copyright © Doug Claybourne 1999-2011. All Rights Reserved.

For Terrence Malick after watching his film, The Thin Red Line

On the 2 nd viewing and for Polly Platt on her birthday 01.29.99

J.E. Dorsey was a violin maker in Houston, Texas and the grandfather of Doug Claybourne. The pen name keeps his grandfather alive in Claybourne’s heart.