THE WALL
Men and women, old before their time, reach out and touch me.
Tears stream down their faces as they silently mouth names I know all too well.
I cannot embrace them.
Some people come regularly, bringing flowers or letters.
I cannot smell, I cannot read.
One young girl propped a picture of a soldier and a note against my
foot, "This is my father, I never knew him. If you served with him,
please write to me."
I cannot write.
Teenagers who cannot possibly understand, ask why I stand here.
I cannot justify myself.
A grandfather tried unsuccessfully to choke back tears as he explained
to his grandchildren that their father is not buried here.
I cannot help him.
A middle aged woman asked for my permission to remarry.
She needs a husband, her children need a father, she said.
I cannot grant her wish.
Former soldiers bring photographs of boot camp graduations,
or of Infantry Companies, or "hooches", or of groups on R&R.
I cannot reminisce with them.
Families come to me with questions and seeking solace.
I cannot answer them, I cannot console them.
People have come from around the world to look at me.
I evoke in them painful memories of a horrendous time.
I cannot spare them.
Politicians stand before me, pretentiously speaking of the courage I
represent, of the sorrow I embody.
I cannot silence them.
Protesters gather near, screeching of the evil in me.
I cannot hate them.
There are many things I cannot do, because I am only
a wall. Therefore I stand mute; the focus of human love,
sorrow, anger, frustration, memory, need, longing, and pain.
But I will continue to stand here --
because I am not just a wall-- I am THE WALL.
jhmcd
at the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial
Veteran's Day 1987
