A Place Called
Normandy
It was a stormy day
at Omaha
when our craft was
about to hit the beach.
I was reeling with
seasickness and in fear
was shaking from the
top of my head
to the soles of my
feet.
My buddy tried to
cheer me up
tho I knew he was
also afraid to die.
I smiled only briefly
as he opened his jacket
and showed me his
wild colored tie.
As the door to the
craft opened
my buddy ran off down
the shore
I watched until I
could see him nomore.
For what seemed like
hours
I stood frozen in
time.
The carnage was making
me sicker
but soldiers kept
on pushing by.
I was shaken by a
familiar image
that from a distance
caught my eye.
The man's right arm
and half his face
was missing.
Then through the blood
and gore
I saw the wild colored
tie.
I wanted to scream
and yell
I tried to get to
my buddy.
Suddenly the scene
was interrupted
by an exploding shell.
Through the smoke
I looked in vain
he had vanished into
thin air.
For some strange reason
I had no more energy
to care.
Not only did my buddy
die
in that living hell.
But on that beach
in Normandy
a big part of me died
as well.
Jill V. Chandler
Copyright 1998, Spokane Washington
