Christina A. Sharik


Well, now you’re home.
After the hugs and handshakes
And the pot roast dinner
We are alone.

Or are we?

I find you strange.
I cannot put a name to it.
I KNOW you’re home
(But are you, really?)

I think you are in some strange place
I’ve never been
And will never be able to see.
It frightens me.

You came by plane – and
Kissed your son and me –
You hugged your Dad and Mom –

Am I the only one who knows
You’re still in Vietnam?