Nostos (For my student Luis, who served in Iraq)

We read The Odyssey

that spring

you sat

in my classroom

near the door-

back covered by the wall.

You never said a word,

but one day gave me

scrolls that told

of  an epic through

a red sand sea

I saw the first man you killed,

first road side check,

knuckle cold pulled from his white robe.

Your finger was quicker

then black scattered ash:

the man who was then half a man

dragging himself to a deep well;

drowning would be better

than bleeding out where hips and legs

and groin and feet and knees

and belly 

used to be.

As an act of kindness

you aimed for his brain.

You speak of long dreamless sweat burnt nights,

Long Island grass turned to sand

the sudden appearance of roadside bombs

on the L.I.E.

We talk about the ocean--

the things you love

a dark-eyed south shore girl

concerts in the park

long letters

thunderstorms

honor.

You  never skipped a page

and seemed to understand

the poetry of a strange land.

The warrior with his proud sword,

dead man’s helmet

under his arm,

comrades

lost on the blood teeth of monsters

(as the terrible Pentagon gods chew

the bones of your brothers…)

 We don’t talk politics

Only the myth of Odysseus,

longing to claim what is his

sailing the wine dark sea

to a home beyond repair.