She was nineteen and I was twenty
I had orders to Vietnam
She was planning a life.
No future she said to me.
The years have gone by, that's for sure.
Life has been good to me.
I remember how it made me cry.
How so many years later,
Still I think of her, so young and pure.
In my pantheon, her place
Is untouchable, unchangeable, and perhaps
Untrue. Who knows these things anyway?
All of the events that have plowed
Through my time are all there;
Each one is right where I put it.
Hers is no greater or lesser ... except
That I remember it so vividly
Always in the exact same way.
Never changes.
Never anything new, anything different.
Always the same: she's unique that way.
Old memories are projects to fix, moving them
And shaping them into something
Just a little bit better.
I fuss with everything until I'm happy.
Reality's not real since I can change it.
I've added some stones around one of my gardens.
Every day I push them and worry them around,
Adjusting unseen imperfections.
To anyone else they are fine.
To me they are a mess.
I do that in everything.
Everything gets adjusted.
Over and over and over.
Except for her.
She was nineteen and I was twenty.
I had orders to Vietnam
She was planning a life.
No future she said to me.

06/08/2008

Posted on 08/19/2008
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