Olive Drab Angel

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."
Copyright © 1997 Edward Ramon All rights reserved
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Added 7/13/97