Christina A. Sharik


You are waiting out a cold sandstorm
waiting for morning and the day turned warm
I am the sandblaster of the sand
I am the cruel sun in a crueler land;

You are writing a letter home; wishing she were here
You try prayer to try to calm your fear
I do not know anxiety or tears
I’ve seen men cry, over the years.

Your Mother is proud, and a little angry
She wants you to come home as you used to be
Better tell her now, how it really is
At least, as far as I can see.

You won’t go home with soul or body whole
Only in name will you be the same.

So hide behind the sand dunes
With sand in your gun and your mouth
and know that the tanks will be coming
From the North and then the south.

If I could feel pity for mankind
I would feel that pity for you now
Alas, I am not made that way and so
I don’t know how.

Cover your eyes against the grit in the wind
then take one last glance at the sun
I know you now, and you know me –