Facing Komunyakaa

I stare in horror

as I see my name

reflected in the black granite.

I’m at the war memorial.

I’m on the war memorial.

One of the 58, 022 names.

Trapped inside,

forever in Vietnam

with the jungle cries,

screaming men, women,

children.

I smell the smoke

bombs, weed, napalm.

I taste the beer, barbequed

flesh.

A plane goes overhead,

reflected in my reflections.

The names of my comrades,

no, not comrades,

we fought against that title.

Is it me?

Did I die there?

Am I dead here?

I reach for my wife’s hand

and squeeze

to assure myself

I’m really here

and there.

The original: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177382