Entry 7.0 Multi-Genre Project

‘NAM

A personal creative reaction to The Things They Carried

Brittany du’Monceaux
Spring 2009

The draft is for men. My husband has been granted medical discharge from military service. The Vietnam War was over before I was born. In many ways, the Things They Carried should be a book that is too far removed from me to understand or connect with in a meaningful way. The creative pieces that follow are a way to express the common ground that I find between myself and the experiences of Tim O’Brien and his characters.



Poem for Three Voices – The Things We Carry
On "real paper", these three are in columns next to each other.


Jungle boots
2.1 pounds


6 or 7 ounces
of premium dope

The letters weighed
10 ounces

morphine
plasma
malaria tablets

the standard M-16
gas-operated assault rifle

10 to 15 pounds
of
ammunition


across his chest

and shoulders

and the un-weighed
fear

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Back pack
38 pounds
fully loaded


the Three year old
clinging to her hip
is another
40 pounds

Groceries
Debt
Unpaid bills
Late fees
Diapers
The nebulizer
The Benedryl

The Citalopram
Is for

Depression





20 milligrams
each night
at bedtime

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The cowardice

doubt

failure to act

Memories of



Our fathers


Our mothers




Our lovers



The Things We Carry




Stream of Consciousness – Reaction to Vietnam War Memorials at State Capitol

I approach the tree-covered-and-set-low-in-the-park area that could only be the site of the Vietnam memorial for that covered-up-and-wish-we-had-never-done-it-because-it-didn’t-do-any- good war overseas to our west. Thinking of the racist, cursing-smoking-drunk-ear-cutting-thumb-collector-Vietnam-vet that is my uncle-in-law, I feel that I have had my Vietnam emotional moment years ago is Washington D.C. After all this wall is only one state I think to myself as I come rollin,’ in the wind biting and my hair in my face like I’m standing next to economy-size-dry-out-this-flood-in-eighteen-minutes-Coit-Call-for-Coit-Stanley-Steamer fan.

“We were young. We have died. Remember Us.”

Someone has unplugged that damn Stanley Steamer fan because the world is still enough that I can feel the shivering of my body roll from the top of my head to my gut while the blood rushes to that place just above your cheekbones-that-place-that-tickles-and-makes-your-eyes-go-slim-while-you-deny-that-you-actually-might-sigh-or-gasp-out-loud. I read it over again.

“We were young”
“We were young”

“We were young”

I look to the ground busy myself with wrapping my coat collar around me tighter then to face away from the wind look to my left and there stands a ten-foot tall and green Vietnam soldier with his hands palms up extended towards me with those big-empty-wish-I-could-tell-you-but-I-can’t-because-I-wish-I-was-on-that-wall-too eyes.

He questions me.

The soldiers that lived.





“We were young”



“We were young”

“We were young”



Haiku – 5-7-5 – On the Opposition – Research-based

The skin on his arm
Like a dirt road flaky cracked
It’s the Agent Orange


Some advocated
A withdrawal from Vietnam
Dirty communist



Woodstock Grateful Dead
Marijuana smoke and sex
Peace. Make love not war



Doves scream and hawks coo
Kent State University
Four fatal shootings



Finally over
1973
Paris Peace Accords



Number of deaths is
Some reports fail to include
Insert battle here



Bob Dylan and John
I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore
Keep singing for us