I wrote this poem in 2007, while my son was serving in the US Navy. He was a member of a search and rescue squadron that consisted of 8 to 10 young men, ages 18 to 25, that twice surprised me with overnight visits to Pasadena. Their young faces beaming with gratitude to have a home cooked meal and a peaceful place to set their sleeping gear. Then, as misteriously as they had arrived, they'd stealthily disappear by morning. Back to wherever they came from and on to their next secret mission somewhere in parts unknown.

Between The Beach And The Train

In the supermarket of the city the faces are sullen
And eyebrows knitted
Out about the wind and air of nowhere special
The faces are soft and sun-kissed
 
We awoke, the cold gravel  re-sculpting our backsides
Train chords amped background jazz harmonic
Marking each hour spent in freedom
Soon we would be called back
 
To camouflage and the rigidity
Of orders for death
Visions of beggars and pleadings
Await us in the desert across the seas
 
Why plan anything?
Why build anything?
There's just the stunning silence
Between our train and the beach
 
We must march a long hot dusty trail
To where the sea grasses meet the sand
Our green sprouted souls
Met by the arid grains of a rock
 
The low tide of money coming in
Brought us to these dried wetlands
The man in the tower promised us rewards
And we wanted to escape the tough train
 
Terrain of soft dunes
Punctuated by delicate flowers
That seem to grow with nothing
To nourish them but sea mist carried by wind
 
We follow the footprints left by dead soldiers
To the end
Where the grass meets the sand
Where the train's melodious chords fade
 
Amber waves have grayed
Making us weep and cling to each other
This was not what we thought
When we flew our kite on the beach that day