The night my sleep failed me,

the sky was starry and filled with

coffee black pockets between.

I remember washing

away the fingerprints

of my second grade hands,

pure and harmless to

any man’s life. I was

drenched in confusion

and helplessness, but

not hopelessness. The Evening

News with Dan Rather

frightened me white. I

didn’t know war, I had

a terrible sense about

the word. It kept me

awake, pining for more

knowledge to rest

my agitated stomach.

Flashbulb photos of

Patriot missiles,

B-52’s, M-16’s, and

Stealth Bombers danced

on my brain, diving in

and out of my

trenches. Middle Eastern

sirens substituted

the usual CBS musical

intro, triggering my blood

to race impatiently through

my veins.

Just as quickly as Operation

Desert Storm came

to worry me,

the realization that

I wouldn’t be bombarded

by missiles arrived to my ears,

when my father told

me that men and women

as tough as grandpa were

overseas, fighting for

me.