Edward Ramon

The naked bulb that hung from the ceiling
cast an eerie, phosphorescent glare.
Luminous arrows of blazing white light
pierced the humid tropic air.
The quonset became a contest of boundaries,
with deep shadow here and brilliance there.
The forms and shapes of those wounded and dying
sprang from the darkness, everywhere.

I remember the first glimpse I had of her
with my empty, pensive stare.
Shimmering light danced on her wet forehead,
and a halo grew from her sun-bleached hair.
I saw traces of fear and desperate devotion,
and a type of courage exceedingly rare.
This soldier was tough but so fragile inside,
so strong but delightfully fair.

I watched her toil in that circle of light
which hovered above her pit of despair.
I solitude, I revered and loved her
as she labored on, quite unaware.
If I had spoken, then, as much as I should have,
I would have had nothing left to bare.
I would have given all to this Olive Drab Angel,
who had come so far to do her share.
She is home now, alone with her invisible wounds
and I need to tell her, "...that I still care."

Added 7/13/97