March 18, 2003
United States Penitentiary
Terre Haute, Indiana
by Wyatt Kroopf
They said, “Here are the maps”; we burned the cities. It was not dying—no, not ever dying; But the night I died I dreamed that I was dead, And the cities said to me: “Why are you dying? We are satisfied, if you are; but why did I die?” - From “Losses” by Randall Jarrell |
1.
The burning is hidden to you
but it’s happening right in front of you.
He looks fine, you think, peaceful, you think.
People scream when they are being burned;
he is not screaming, only laying there
taking a few big breaths and then releasing.
Release, that word feels right to you. Release.
He is being released. Dying, yes, it is dying,
but, really, it is not dying, won’t ever be dying.
It is more like release. It is release. Release release
release release release. You repeat it in your mind
until you forget how to say it.
2.
Before, you read about his time in Iraq during the Gulf War.
You read about the munitions depot in Khamisiyah,
about how they blew it up, about how it burned,
about how he watched it burn, about how he looked up
at the mushroom cloud filling the sky. You don’t know
what he was thinking, but you imagine he was confused
and maybe scared. You don’t know why you feel the right
to imagine this, but you do because it makes you feel better.
You’re not sure.
3.
You watch his mouth open and move
without saying anything. You watch his eyes
float upward and close. His voice startles you
when he starts to sing Jesus keep me near the cross;
there a precious fountain, free to all, a healing stream.
You forgot he has a voice. You wonder why
he doesn’t scream if he’s burning and can scream.
Then, you remember, he can’t.
4.
You try not to think about the gas that poisoned him.
You try not to think about the chemicals, about how brains work,
about what it means to forget, about the damage, about dreams
of burning cities, about scars and silent wounds. You try not to think
about places that you can never know. But, you do.
You think about all this as you watch him on the gurney,
burning and not screaming. You close your eyes and repeat:
release release release release release release release
until you forget where you are.
5.
Later, you read his final handwritten statement:
I do think I understand, maybe, why it is you seek to end my life.
You wonder if he’s talking to you; he’s talking to you.
You respond, Why are you dying. We are satisfied, if you are.
He screams out, but why did I die?
But he’s not screaming.
The burning is hidden to you
but it’s happening right in front of you.
He looks fine, you think, peaceful, you think.
People scream when they are being burned;
he is not screaming, only laying there
taking a few big breaths and then releasing.
Release, that word feels right to you. Release.
He is being released. Dying, yes, it is dying,
but, really, it is not dying, won’t ever be dying.
It is more like release. It is release. Release release
release release release. You repeat it in your mind
until you forget how to say it.
2.
Before, you read about his time in Iraq during the Gulf War.
You read about the munitions depot in Khamisiyah,
about how they blew it up, about how it burned,
about how he watched it burn, about how he looked up
at the mushroom cloud filling the sky. You don’t know
what he was thinking, but you imagine he was confused
and maybe scared. You don’t know why you feel the right
to imagine this, but you do because it makes you feel better.
You’re not sure.
3.
You watch his mouth open and move
without saying anything. You watch his eyes
float upward and close. His voice startles you
when he starts to sing Jesus keep me near the cross;
there a precious fountain, free to all, a healing stream.
You forgot he has a voice. You wonder why
he doesn’t scream if he’s burning and can scream.
Then, you remember, he can’t.
4.
You try not to think about the gas that poisoned him.
You try not to think about the chemicals, about how brains work,
about what it means to forget, about the damage, about dreams
of burning cities, about scars and silent wounds. You try not to think
about places that you can never know. But, you do.
You think about all this as you watch him on the gurney,
burning and not screaming. You close your eyes and repeat:
release release release release release release release
until you forget where you are.
5.
Later, you read his final handwritten statement:
I do think I understand, maybe, why it is you seek to end my life.
You wonder if he’s talking to you; he’s talking to you.
You respond, Why are you dying. We are satisfied, if you are.
He screams out, but why did I die?
But he’s not screaming.
Wyatt Kroopf is a writer and educator based in Baltimore, Maryland. Currently, he works as the artist-in-residence at Baltimore United Viewfinders, where he teaches writing and digital storytelling to Baltimore youth.
Wyatt Kroopf is a writer and educator based in Baltimore, Maryland. Currently, he works as the artist-in-residence at Baltimore United Viewfinders, where he teaches writing and digital storytelling to Baltimore youth.