Volume 8 | Spring 2018
by Dennis Trujillo
The only relic from my army service—
oh sure, there are also a few ribbons
and citations—but my single, practical
keepsake from those days on firing ranges
and bivouacs—my army issued, olive drab,
duffel bag. It’s like a military
working dog that followed me home.
Shoulder straps keep me leashed to my past
in chow halls, motor pools, or hunkered
in armored vehicles. “US” stenciled
on the bag in black like a passport stamp.
Sometimes in dreams it leads the way
flashing in the breeze like a green guidon.
I follow across cold streams and ravines—
upward, advancing toward the high ground.