Stephen was born in 1954 and is a husband, father, English teacher, and a New Yorker, He is not a Vet, but his father was a Marine in WW II. When Stephen was growing up, his father used to tell him about the concept of the ‘wounded healer’ in war, which Stephen found fascinating and fashioned into a sonnet.
In the time of the nation’s Civil crack,
Bill Percy was a medic for the North
And saw more blood than Macbeth’s hand could hold.
Torn flesh from pickets straddling his soul
Made him dream of lakes reeking mephitis
And brooding barges of rigor mortis
That turned morning screams a welcomed show.
Few were as charitable in any war,
Like a seraph of mercy who slays his time.
The wounded loved him, when munitions roared,
As they might have loved tall heaven’s fort
Had war not palsied their thoughts of the divine.
But they did not know the secret he kept:
A bayonet wound that would not subside.
©Copyright 2006 by Stephen Sangirardi