Poetry


~ Hand Full of Dirt ~


It was cold that day I stood outside the Chapel
Tho spring, it had snowed that morning
A special place this was, I knew well
Of celebration and of forlorning

Sacred was this ground, dedicated to vets
Men and women who had given that last measure
People who had served and died without regrets
So that you and I might find in life some pleasure

But I didn't know how sacred it was
Until I read the plaque "Hand Full of Dirt"
It is awesome what a sudden emotion does
A blinding realization of both gratefulness and hurt

There I was, standing on Vietnam ground once more
I was home and safe and free of the Nam
Except for some memories that still were sore
The chapel, the Dr., this plaque were a balm

For a soul still searching for reasons and explanations
For what we did and why so many died
In so far flung and forgotten locations
They gave all, all I could say is "I tried"

But there I was, standing in both places
Half home, half there, it mirrored my state
Nothing in life ever displaces
Those experiences that generate the hurt and the hate

But suddenly I was humbled by the thought
That a man loved a son and all vets so much
That to this spot, this holy ground, he brought
Something that no other memorial can touch

A hand full of dirt, blood and pride soaked
And sprinkled it around this veteran site
In my mind a new level of sanctity now cloaked
This very special symbol of hope and light.

Roy Minier, 3/6 Arty, Pleiku 68-69
Dedicated to David Wesphall,
his buddies, to all of you,
to his father, and to me.