"We came home four years ago..."
by Mason Rodrigue
We came home four years ago.
It’s not that I didn’t want to,
I just wasn’t ready.
I hadn’t got my fill,
all I left behind, lost time,
all that drill, that conditioning to kill,
all that training, and no blood spilled.
I didn’t know what to say about it,
so I said nothing.
Yes, it was hot, but it was also cold.
Yes, the people were poor,
and the refugees need somewhere to go
but I wasn’t convinced that place was here.
It was beautiful, and rugged,
and inhospitable in the same way
parts of Montana are.
We rolled through rolling hills
and moon dust sand,
it was barren, a war torn wasteland.
It reduced us to our most basic form-
Strong men, armed, in the way of harm,
with our tribe, alive, each day a Groundhog Day,
with a mission to survive.
It was dumb luck we never got struck
by ambush or IED
but I still went home waiting
for something to hit me.
They call that anxiety.
Nothing happened,
but everything happened,
and I had already missed birthdays, weddings, Halloween, and Thanksgiving-
Why not stay here?
Through Christmas and New Years?
I wanted an endless summer,
until I finally fought my enemy
and found out if there was a killer in me.
I saw ISIS, and ISIS saw me, and ISIS said let’s lay low until these Marines go home for leave.
We hadn’t won or lost anything.
We just left, and left parts of ourselves over there
like ghosts to fight the ghosts we wanted to destroy-but couldn’t locate to close with.
Yes, while I was over there, I missed her,
but when I came home I missed my war more,
even though I missed the war.
It rewired me into an IED,
and she was stepping on the pressure plate
every time she tried to get through to me.
Now she, Syria, and the Marines are through with me.
We “came home” four years ago.
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