Girls Are Soldiers Too

I can’t imagine an old woman like me in Syria this morning. Her choking fear, her horror - worst of all, her hopelessness.

And I hear sabres rattling loudly at North Korea as day breaks over Lake Winnebago and I sit serene in my little town in my safe country.

I don’t know many soldiers.

The ones I do know are patriotic and proud of their service. They are also damaged by the war they fought.

The old soldiers have scarred souls. They say they’re stronger and better for it.

The younger ones have gaping wounds. They don’t talk much about it.

I know a woman who touched my heart. She has two children that live with their dad.

I don’t know her well. I read her posts and follow her journey from wounds to scars.

She is doing something good and important for herself.

When we met over a meal at a favorite restaurant, she told me things I can’t unhear. And as the threat of foreign conflict fills my living room, I am reminded by this woman that no one “wins” a war. There are only varying degrees of loss.

I wrote a poem for her. You can read it here.