The Medic

It started back in the cemetery.

I used to call it a grave yard

But the man there gave me a sour eye.

I think I'll still call it a grave yard when I'm somewhere else

If I remember to.

There wasn't a lot that I remembered that day,

Just walking past stone after stone,

I don't remember any of the names,

Because I started to remember other things,

Things that were not mine to remember,

And somehow were.

There was a fight,

A battle.

Guns and dirt and grenades

And blood.

I tried not to remember the blood

But there it was.

And there was screaming,

So much screaming.

I always saw the worst ones,

Ones who came to the tent with missing limbs.

Some of the men were brave,

But it was always worse when they were screaming.

My hands could feel the cloth I used,

Bandaging, making splints, tourniquets,

The bottles of disinfectant,

The needles to make them sleep.

I blinked,

And suddenly there was a cloud on the hill.

A nurse in white was there.

She was my mother,

But she wasn't.

She just beckoned to me.

I can't, I thought,

I have to tend to them.

"Marcus!" she said

And the memories faded.

I was back in the cemetery.

"Come on, it's time to go!"

"You shouldn't shout,"

I said under my breath.

"What? Come on, baby, let's go.

"What were you doing out there so long?"

"Just remembering," I said.

She was quiet for a minute.

"Really? Remembering what?"

I was quiet for a minute.

"I don't know."