We are posed, at Fort Bragg, ready to leave; certified fit for combat.
I don’t know any of these people now, not that I knew them much back then, our summer of blood.
I never kept in touch. Never felt that touched. Never felt connected to war, to warriors, to that band of others.
What I have is an old color photograph, made by the base photographer. One group picture of thousands made, stored. Some may be displayed in a case alongside a folded flag, maybe a box with a medal. Mine has traveled and nagged me for too many years. Of all the things I’ve lost. All the things I’ve tossed out or left behind, I don’t know why, what weak part of me, keeps this fading picture, still in its rubber stamped folder.
Evidence, of what, for whom…. maybe me, maybe not.