Norah A. Burns
Norah came to 
came to the 2005 Veteran's Day reading on the Mall with her husband and two
children. Her father, Donald Taylor, served in Vietnam from 1969 to 1971 in
DaNang, with the 37th Signal Battalion and in the Ashau Valley with
the 101st Airborne Division. These poems are written in honor of her
father, her Grandfather (a WWII veteran), and a cousin, Jaworski Doucette, who served in
in Iraq and Afghanistan.
I Remember You
I
remember you,
so strong
and handsome.
Nothing
else in the world
existed
except us.
I
remember your
Kool
cigarettes and the way
you would
rest your hand,
four
fingers,
slightly
under the waistband
of your
dungarees with no fuss.
I
remember your skullcap,
the way
you would roll it up high
on your
forehead,
your hair
curling
a perfect
form below it.
I
remember your eyes,
small and
beautiful
always
with the
twinkle
of me they were lit.
I
remember the comfort
of your
voice when you
smiled at
me.
I remember the comfort Then I remember... I remember the seizures, the tumors, and the surgeries. I remember your skullcap, I remember the bombs, the blood, the bane, and the banishment. I remember the I remember the hospitals, the meds, the missing, I remember attempts at rehabilitation and assimilation I remember your strength, With you I do this time in service For you I speak these words of support With you I do this time in service For you I speak these words of support And it is with you I do this time in service And it is for you I speak these words of support I know you I can feel it. I know they I can feel it. You never wrote I guess you couldn't Your path I know you're getting On special days like this Some years he asks why and returns with an They say, "...Thank You." They breathe a sigh of relief. I grow angry about war, about my country For I realize in fact that these, our leaders My Father's will to live His aches beat within him Before birth, I traveled with my Mother It remains to stand that I knew His high tolerance for pain and it's relievers; During these times, without mercy, when our memories (Inspired by my Cousin, Sagaia Taatia Doucette, the Wife of Jaworski Doucette. For her commitment, hard work and love.)
While her husband
of your voice when you
smiled at me Baby girl &
she remembers you, Daddy boy,
when she laughed back,
you being her entire world.
I remember...
The noise and the screaming.
I remember the blows and the pleading.
I remember your voice,
your comforting voice disappearing.
I remember your eyes,
your beautiful eyes
glare as if bleeding.
rolled much too high upon your forehead
allowing my tiny hands to run across the ruler like scar
that tattooed it entirety with dread.
Pain and anguish of abandonment.
and the ghosts.
at its most.
your love and your words.
But most of all Daddy,
I remember to thank you
for giving me these nerves.
Time In Service
Written in living memory and honor of my cousin Jaworski Doucette
Serving in Ramadi, Bahgdad, Camp Anaconda, Iraq and Bagram, Afghanistan.
For although I am not in action with you
The risk and fear I feel are great.
Because I realize that nothing
More than encouragement
Can help you through this fate.
Using my voice as a reminder to all,
That it is you who sacrifice your mind,
Body and soul for our cause.
Because I realize that many
Exist oblivious to our suffering
In their luxury of ambivalence without pause.
Saluting with you in pride when you return to our midst.
In remembrance for those we shall miss.
With Your Grace
Written in loving memory of my Grandfather Roy J. Jack.
Service in the Army Air Corps
Are here
With me.
I could never do this before.
Wish it not
To be, but,
Like me,
Not for lack
Of creativity.
For lack of clemency
Was hard,
Though,
You never lost
Your whim.
A good laugh
Right now
Seeing, ME?, swim
Conflict
I call my Father to thank him for fighting
For me in the "Nam."
Anguished, "...you're welcome baby girl."
Some years he passes the phone to one of his buddies,
A fellow soldier, friend and wanderer from "Nam"
So I can repeat my salutation.
Often peppered with some of the most
Well meaning expletives I have ever heard.
They retreat one step away from their flashbacks.
And our leaders.
Yet, in the same moment, I wrestle with
The appreciation and pride of my Father's great sacrifice
Of health and sanity for his country.
In D.C. and such,
Travel in circles of like minds
And agendas across this amazing planet of ours;
And to posses an affinity to one as opposed to
Another, shall only carry us another step closer
To conflict.
In the Land of the Living
Is a lot stronger than most people's.
On the outside of my headaches,
I realize this.
Persistent reminders
That he remains in the land of the living
Despite his kisses with death.
Of me, despite the lot I have been cast,
His will and strength lives in me.
In the Bayous and on the Levees of Louisiana
And became woman;
But curiously, before birth, I too suffered
With my Father in Da Nang and Ashau Valley
And became man.
Where I was going and from whom I came
Before they knew me.
Nonetheless of me, despite the lot I have been cast,
Their will and strength lives in me.
His heavy and deliberate voice resisting the objectionable;
His stealthily keen awareness of the enemy around us;
And his more than resourceful and brilliant mind to create
A weapon out of the simplest and seemingly useless
Utilitarian household objects, all exist in me.
Alas, of me, in light of the lot we have been cast,
His will and strength lives in me and mine in him.
Come back to torture us,
Our wits become indestructible, but our bodies
Increasingly fragile.
Post episode,
And after each stay in the hospital;
And after each new prescription has been filled,
Our aches beat within us persistent reminders
That we remain in the land of the living
Despite our kisses with death.
Her Life’s Work
Serves in Iraq
She works hard
With intensity and might.
Conquering the chaos of
Her environment with
Each thrust of her broom.
A full bucket of hot
Lemon and ammonia spiked water
Kiss her hands un-forgivingly.
She washes,
As if her life depends on it,
In jeopardy.
From ceiling to wall
From wall to baseboard
From baseboard to floor
Back breaking work.
Leaving rings and notches on her
Bones as those read by
Archaeologists on the old bones
Of Homo Floresiensis female telling
The story of the number of
Children her body hath birthed
And the type of death she endured.
Or like the rings in an ancient
Redwood telling the story of its
Years after its life has ended.
Solitary work
She endures
For little pay,
Even less gratitude
And no security
Her compensation
In repay of cleaning 24 rooms
Each day…
$125 dollars a week,
Cash.