May 26, 2025: "Topography," Memorial Day, "Taps"

Yes, it is Memorial Day in the United States.  Every year, on the last Monday of the month of May, we celebrate and honor members of the U.S. armed forces who sacrificed their lives to defend our nation.  This year, more than any other, it's even more important to remember the true meaning of this day--the preservation of freedom and democracy against tyranny, hatred, and authoritarianism.

Sharon Olds writes about the United States . . . 

Topography

by: Sharon Olds

After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
intricately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

Okay, Olds' poem is about sex.  It's not very subtle in that regard.  However, it's also about the freedom of speech (that's the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution for all those MAGA readers who've never read the document upon which our entire country is based).  Olds can write a sex poem using the United States metaphorically and parodying the Pledge of Allegiance simply because it's her Constitutional right.

In other countries ruled by fascist dictators, poets have been thrown in jail for criticizing political leaders.  Stalin did it.  Putin is still doing it.  Fortunately, the Constitution prevents President 47 from doing it in the United States (for now).  All those brave members of the U.S. military who fought and died in armed conflicts did so in order to bear "true faith and allegiance to the Constitution" (that's in the oath all enlisted personnel take--check it out if you don't believe me).  They sacrificed their lives so Olds could exercise her Constitutional rights as a U.S. citizen.

I was raised to respect and honor all military veterans.  From a very young age, I knew that Memorial Day wasn't just about a three-day weekend and hotdogs and corn on the cob.  It's about who we are and what ideals we should all hold dear, regardless of political affiliation.  

I went to a Memorial Day parade with my family today.  Then, we attended a Veterans of Foreign Wars service at a local cemetery.  We placed flowers at the graves of relatives, including my father, who was a military veteran.

I am not a hater or war-monger or xenophobe.  I believe in the worth of everyone, no matter where you come from, what you believe, or who you love.  As a Christian, I was taught that all human beings are children of God.  Kindness and compassion should be the guiding force of everything we do.

If you don't agree with these ideals, you are NOT a true patriot and you are NOT a true Christian.  Sorry, not sorry.  Read the Constitution and the Bible.  It's pretty straightforward.

Saint Marty wrote a poem for Memorial Day based on the following prompt from The Daily Poet:

Write a poem where the first word starts with "A" and the last word of the poem ends with "Z."  Somewhere in the poem mention the alphabet or alphabetical order.  Have the poem be about something that has nothing to do with the alphabet.  For extra credit, try to use a word that begins with each letter of the alphabet.

Taps

by: Martin Achatz

At my father's grave today,

a flag licks the bright

air as if whispering 

his name, mustering  him

to attention, him standing

straight as a cornstalk

as my mother's ashes

sigh beside him, tell

him to settle down,

relax until the angels

blow "Reveille" and all

the war dead fall in,

waiting to be counted

one last time before marching

off to that final reckoning, 

from Private Second Class

Achatz to Staff Sergeant Zamora.

October 10: Face of the Moon, PTSD, Middle of the Night

The guards told the Americans to form in ranks of four, which they did.  Then they had them march back to the hog barn which had been their home.  Its walls still stood, but its windows and roof were gone, and there was nothing inside but ashes and dollops of melted glass.  It was realized then that there was no food or water, and that the survivors, if they were going to continue to survive, were going to have to climb over curve after curve on the face of the moon.

Which they did.

This is Billy in the aftermath of the bombing of Dresden.  The city has been completely annihilated by American and British planes.  Fire has consumed everything.  The streets and buildings and people.  Billy and his fellow prisoners of war are practically the only survivors walking upright and unharmed.  They are the lucky ones.

Of course, most people who survive this kind of experience suffer, to a greater or lesser degree, some kind of post traumatic stress.  Vonnegut did.  I think Slaughterhouse was his attempt to exorcise what he saw in Dresden.  As a prisoner of war, Vonnegut spent the weeks following the bombing climbing into the basements of wrecked buildings to retrieve corpses.  The corpses were put in piles and burned.  That'll fuck up anybody for the rest of their lives.  Or make them into really fantastic writers.

I have been pretty lucky in my life.  I haven't really experienced anything that would cause me to suffer PTSD.  Sure, in the weeks following my sister's death, I kept seeing and hearing her all over the place.  I saw her walking across the parking lot when I was at work.  I heard her voice as I drove home at night.  I don't think that really qualifies as PTSD.  I was haunted for quite a while, that's for sure.

However, several years ago, a guy broke into my house in the middle of the night.  I found him standing in the dark in my kitchen.  I said, "Hello?"  And he said, "I was looking for a friend."  When I reached for the light, he bolted out of the back door. 

For weeks after that night, I couldn't go to sleep without triple checking all the doors and windows of the house to make sure they were locked and bolted.  I still do that every night.  I look in the back seat of my car before I open my door.  In the middle of the night, if I have to go to the bathroom, I can feel my heart start beating a little faster. 

That's nothing, though. compared to military veterans who come home from war.  Police officers and firefighters who risk their lives.  Survivors of violent crimes like rape or assault.  These people are true heroes who suffer on a daily basis because of their horrible life experiences. 

My own experiences give me just a little bit of insight into the struggle of PTSD.  It's debilitating, makes you relive the worst times of your life over and over and over and over.  Like Billy Pilgrim unstuck in time.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful for anybody who suffers from PTSD.  They are brave people, each and ever day of their lives.