Walk The Talk

There are reasons under surface,
reasons as shadowy
and slippery as undercurrents.

The choices spanned from easy to difficult.
We were young then,
remember.
Older now, we should know better.

You came ashore in boats and choppers
I sold wares.
We met in market.

The aftermath of discord
weighs heavy on mothers
and orphaned child,
because war, too, is an afterbirth.

The day we met, you sat uncomfortably on my mattress,
waiting on me to finish bathing,
the sound of the shower, chimes in your ears.

We met to share reprieve a bit.
In war's entanglement, we shared a moment,
the chance encounter in the swift love-making
of making a living and making a deal.

You sat on the bed and stared at him in photograph,
who stared right back in frozen time.
You looked like him who looked like you (by coincidence.)

Except he dead, and you lived on.
I wonder if you still do.
Who should care
that we ever did?

There were reasons for Viet Nam.
The Chinese had theirs, the French?
Well, the French ---they always have their rationale.

Uncle Ho had his reasons
LBJ had his as well.
Labyrinth of lame excuses,
convoluted through tortured seasons.

The reasons came to visit and moved one.
They sat in my parlor and on my mattress,
and for awhile in the wash of the old rain barrel.