I Am One of the Wounded

by: Martha L. Steinman
© Copyright 2010

Hello, my name is Martha Steinman and I am submitting a poem which I wrote in memory of my husband.  It doesn't address any of the conflict or horrors of the fighting in Vietnam.  Instead, it speaks of an illness lying in wait, of health stolen, of lingering suffering, and finally, death..  This whole cascade of illness upon illness had its beginning with Agent Orange (AO).  I hope that you will add I Am One of the Wounded to your collection.

Attached is a picture of my husband in Vietnam. Unlike others who were drenched in AO, Charles was an advisor on a depot where AO was stored.  He would write and send tapes telling me how ill he felt after being in that part of the depot holding the AO barrels.  While in Nam, he developed a condition of excessive salivation which the doctors said was "some kind of poisoning."  It was only after some months of returning home that he was no longer bothered with that problem.   Little did we realize that beneath the exterior of what appeared to be good health, illness lurked. I thank you. Sincerely, Martha Steinman

Photo: Col Charles A. Steinman, USA, Retired. RIP

I Am One of the Wounded
By Martha L. Steinman

I am one of the wounded of Vietnam.
Yet, no bullet pierced my skin;
  no shrapnel from a bomb
  made me the invalid I am.
My heart beats.  My eyes see.
I am more than a reflection
  of the man I used to be.
Inside.  Inside--I am me.
I am me.
Still, this truth--my truth cannot be told
  as words lost in some immeasurable abyss
  sound strange--so strange.
And lips, once warm and tender, feel cold,
 yet, yearn for true love’s kiss.
And, yes, I hear!
I hear those white-coat whispers.
 Aiming to erase this life I live,
   they give no respite from their wisdom,
   proclaiming:
I have nothing left to give.
Then  a voice--another voice--her  voice,
  with me from youth through not-so-tender years,
  shames these fools to quiet desperation.
And, I feel.  Oh! How I feel her tears
 and bear her cry
that God--and  God alone,
  shall appoint the hour in which I die.

By the grace of God,
 the world has turned many times since then.
Now, my riderless steed stands waiting at Arlington.
And, as time’s endless sea ends for me,
 I shall expire my one last breath,
 knowing: it was service in Nam
 that propels me toward this death.
It’s true.  I leave no stains of blood in that distant land.
Yet, the name by which I’m damned rings clear.
Listen!  Listen carefully and hear,
 as each new, mournful note of Taps is formed,
      Agent Orange,
                                Agent Orange,
                                                           Agent Orange…

© Martha L. Steinman
I Am One of the Wounded  was written in loving memory of my husband,
Col Charles A. Steinman, USA, Retired.
I Am One of the Wounded was originally published in the December 2010, 50th issue, of Decanto