A MEMORIAL DAY MEMORY

MUSTERING OUT

When the war ended, we were ready to go home.
We heard about troop ships delayed, being prepared,
but anything that could float was fine with us.
We slept on the decks, didn’t have much food, but 
that was nothing new. I lost almost sixty pounds
in those years in Australia, Manila, New Guinea.
Not much chow. Dengue fever. I almost died.
No, we’d have jumped in and swam if we could.

I’ll never forget our first sight of the Golden Gate.
Everybody was out on deck, crying and cheering,
hundreds of people waving back at us.
Mustering out in San Francisco took forever.
Paperwork, medical exams, giving up our uniforms
for fear they carried diseases. They probably did.
They invited us to stay for a talk about the Army reserves.
Hell no, our CO told the guy. He turned to us:
“Do you want to get out of this man’s army?”
“Sir, yes sir!” we shouted back. 

I got a ride from a Mexican guy down to San Jose.
His family had come to pick him up.
We got to the ranch near midnight. I rang the bell,
got everybody out of bed, surprised my mom and dad.
We were all crying, couldn’t believe I’d made it home.
My brother was six feet tall with this big deep voice.
Yeah, it was something. I kept looking around.
It was all the same, but different, you know?
No, I’ll never forget that day. None of us will. 


--Sue Fagalde Lick
Previously published in Rattle Poetry Journal

Author: Sue Fagalde Lick

writer/musician California native, Oregon resident Author of Freelancing for Newspapers, Shoes Full of Sand, Azorean Dreams, Stories Grandma Never Told, Childless by Marriage, and Up Beaver Creek. Most recently, I have published two poetry chapbooks, Gravel Road Ahead and The Widow at the Piano: Confessions of a Distracted Catholic. I have published hundreds of articles, plus essays, fiction and poetry. I'm also pretty good at singing and playing guitar and piano. View all posts by Sue Fagalde Lick