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Night Ambush (poem)
By Jim Richardson
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Soon after dark his patrol returned to the place
Where they had seen bicycle tracks beside the rice paddy.
Quietly they took their positions in a ditch,
Smoked cigarettes and nervously waited
In silence
In the black moonless night.
Tonight, there would be no sleep.
Muffled words were passed down the line
Making certain all stayed alert.
Solomon would whisper to him, "Are you awake?"
Then he would turn and whisper,
"Hollis, you still there?"
He heard the hushed voice of the radio operator
Talking between squelches to the command post,
While he listened to the unremitting songs
Of frogs and crickets from the nearby forest,
And to the mosquitoes buzzing around his ears.
At some point he guessed it was afternoon back home.
He imagined a cold day but his mother
Would be behind the house, tending her garden.
It was where she went for solace.
He was surprised how clearly he could see her there,
Kneeling in front of the bare brown
Of her December flowerbeds.
He pictured her weeding around the plants,
And getting the earth ready for spring,
She would be dressed in her old blue canvas winter coat,
A pair of patched red woolen pants, worn-out tennis shoes,
A fuzzy wool cap that one of her boys had left behind,
And work gloves too big for her hands.
She loved all flowers but favored her perennials.
Spring would bring Shasta daisies, baby's breath,
Day lilies, coreopsis and foxglove.
Rows of delicate coral-bells would line the brick walk,
And climbing the trellis against the solid redwood fence
Were lemon yellow roses and blue-purple clematis.
In a few months the backyard would be full of life.
He imagined his father arriving home from the office,
Tired from the day's work and from the pain in his leg.
He might sit on the low wall of the patio for a moment,
Watching her work
In the thin winter sunlight.
—Jim Richardson
1/6, 196 Infantry Brigade, Americal Division, 1970-71
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