☀ Today's Poem: "On Patmos, Kneeling in the Panagea" Samuel Green

we hear the sound of a woman’s high-heeled
        shoes striking the stones of the floor,
confident stride, strong hips, & I am
        back in a hospital bed at Clark Air

Force Base, the Philippines, September,
        1969, hearing a pair of shoes tapping their way
down the corridor outside my ward. I’d been
        knocked off a motorcycle by a drunk jitney

driver in Cavite City five days before,
        left leg shattered, compound fractures,
bone left on the street, flown to the surgeons
        at Clark who cleaned, debrided, sutured

& hung me up in traction. There were three
        of us in the ward. An air force guy
had blown the fingers off his left hand with a
        homemade bomb. He’d been at Cam Ranh Bay

at a party on the beach. Stupid, stupid, he said.
        The other guy was army, only seventeen,
right leg gone below the knee, left arm
        just above the elbow. Out on a routine

patrol his first week in-country, stood up to pee
        & the other newbie, pulling first guard,
shot him. We went through boot together. He spent
        his days with a model ship, awkward

as it was to snap the pieces off & glue them into
        place one-handed. If I can do this, maybe
I can put myself together again, he said. Each night
        after lights out, he cried for an hour, softly,

into the snot on his pillow. The staff shrink was pissed
        I wouldn’t say yes to amputation, said
I was immature. By that time I was hooked
        on Demerol, my butt cheeks already bared

at the stroke of each third hour, ready
        for the needle. End of that week,
late, they wheeled in three gurneys, jammed
        them tight against the walls, woke

us up. One held an army captain, left leg just
        a stump. He was hyper. Twitchy. Talked
a nurse into a telephone, called his wife. I’m fine,
        sweetheart, just fine. I’m coming home, voice cracked.

He didn’t mention the leg. Second guy was nothing
        but plaster & gauze, both arms in casts, slits
at eyes & mouth. He didn’t move, didn’t make
        a noise. Third man didn’t have any sheets

over him, only a gown. Both legs gone, left arm missing
        nearly to the shoulder, rubber tubes in both
nostrils, a pair of IV bags hung on posts
        from either side of the gurney. His mouth

was open, eyes glazed. He made a sound like a pair
        of house slippers shuffling across a bare
carpet. His catheter bag was half full.
        One of the volunteers came in the door

just as the orderlies left. They were officers’ wives
        for the most part, helping out while their
husbands flew supply runs or medevacs, stabilized
        patients, wrote long, exacting reports. The war

was far away, except for the wards. They fetched us
        decks of cards, looked for paperbacks,
helped us fill out daily menus, poured out
        cups of water, let us flirt a bit, ignored our looks

of lust. This one looked tired. She talked with
        the captain, who still seemed buzzed, his hands
fluttering like bats. His stump thumped up
        & down as he talked. His top sheet was stained

brown. He kept repeating home, home, home. I heard her
        say the plane would load & leave real early, he
should try to sleep. She put a hand on his
        forehead. He settled, closed his eyes. She

moved on to the gauze man, but didn’t do much
        more than stand. She reached a hand as though
to touch, but stopped, adjusted the edge of a sheet
        & turned away. She murmured something low

to the third soldier, put her ear down near
        his face & nodded. She took a cup of ice
from a stand, carefully placed a chip between
        his lips & let it melt. She did it twice

more. Anything I can get you, soldier? Her voice
        was soft. He made a groan, like
a rusted nut coming loose on a bolt. Yeah,
        he said, I want some cake, a chocolate cake.

She watched as water dribbled down his neck, said
        What? He said it again. She shook her head.
I’m sorry, she said, but you can’t eat. She tried to give him
        one more piece of ice. Lady, he said,

Jesus, lady, I don’t wanna eat it. I just wanna look
        at it. He clamped his teeth down hard
grinding away at pain, turned his head to
        the wall. A minute more, she left the ward,

gone for the night. Then it was another shot
        for me, lights out again & sleep. They came
before breakfast, the nurses, changing linen,
        bags, IVs, a single bed pan. The same

orderlies took the captain first. He waved
        at us when he left. Then they took the white
ghost who never moved or spoke. That was when
        we heard the click of high heels out

in the hall & the volunteer walked in, dressed
        for a date, strapless bright green gown,
blonde hair hanging over bare shoulders. She was
        carrying a cake in two hands, a big round

three-layer cake, a single candle lit. She walked to
        the soldier’s gurney & stopped. He heard
her coming & turned to look: the froth of chocolate
        same color as his skin. They didn’t say a word.

The orderlies returned. One checked the blood
        pressure in his remaining arm; one
changed the flow on both IVs. The soldier
        raised the stump of his arm, let it down

soft on the rumpled sheet. His nose & eyes
        were leaking. The orderlies released
the gurney’s brake & wheeled him out. She took
        a few steps back to let them pass.

We saw her shoulders shake. She stayed like that
        a long, long time, then turned & left
without speaking. The candle had gone out,
        left a trail of smoke, like a fighter jet

leaves across a clear sky. The guy who blew off
        his own hand said, She could have left us
some. But it was all right. We couldn’t have eaten
        the smallest bite of that darkness,

as here, on a Greek island thousands of miles
        & more than forty years away,
I wait for the bread of the body, kneeling
        beside a woman who feeds me every day.