Monica L. Murphy
He called her on a Saturday in the early afternoon;
She almost didn’t recognize the voice saying, “Mom, is that you?”
Just a few short months ago her son had gone to war;
She’d only received one short note and then, nothing more.
Her tears started flowing as he described the joy;
Of the opening of school that day for Iraqi girls and boys.
For all she wanted was her own son to come home safe and sound;
But he believes in what he’s doing; so he has to stay around.
His brother took the phone and asked about the war;
Like any boy his age, he wanted to know more.
“Have you shot anyone-has anyone shot at you?”
Then he got quiet as his brother’s words came through.
“War just isn’t cool, Kid, but sometimes it has to be;
No, I haven’t killed anyone; yes, they’ve shot at me.”
She takes the phone from her younger son and listens to her oldest child;
He’s grown into a fine young man; she can hear it across the miles.
She starts to cry again… someone has tried to hurt her son;
“Mom, they’re not a very good shot; I promise I’ll come home.”
She knew there was a war; she knew the danger he was in;
But as she listened to his words, it drove it home again.
Each day she prays, “God, keep him safe for he made a promise to me;
That he would be home very soon… so watch over him for me.”
©Copyright May 2003 by Monica L. Murphy