That Medal

By Anthony Hardie


What does that medal mean you ask?

That one there

On your chest

I request

You tell me what

It means


I hesitate again

Faltering, haltering, then feeling

Obligated

To say something

Of what it means


It means that I…

It means that we…

Well, it was over in…

Well…


No wait, this time,

This time I don’t know why, but I will

Tell it how it really is

Not the official story

Not the military’s story

Not the citation hanging there on the wall


What that medal really means is this:

It means I’m a dreamer…

A dreamer, what? A dreamer, Huh?

A dreamer…


You see, I was so young, and dreamed a dream

Of imaginable ideals

Of democracy, and liberty,

Freedom,

And Justice for all


I dreamed a dream

Of smart starched uniforms

And medals with stories

Bigger even than their brass brilliance


I dreamed a dream

Of a better life

The way to which was paved with just

A degree and

A little

Service


I dreamed a dream

A dream deferred

For just

A few years


While in the dust and desert heat

The dust and oil and stench

Of unwashed bodies

Us

Me

Didn’t feel so romanticized


So I just daydreamed

I dreamed a dream

I dreamed of home, bigger than the moon shining

On those cloudless desert nights


I dreamed a sweet dream

Of someone waiting for me

Puffing up our love like a cloud

Through letters and emails and once in awhile

Calls

And dreams


I dreamed a dream

Of life beyond

The camaraderie closer than any brotherhood

Where sweat and tears and dreams and blood

All mixed and shared and mingled until

They had no words, only images

Home

Mom

Love

American People

Home


But wait, this is a story

About that medal on my chest

Tightly woven round

The little brass bar in the back

Pinned to my breast


Sure it’s about dreams

Yes, that’s what I mean

Dreams night after night

Looming large

Or small


Dreams of that brotherhood

Broken

Lost

Alone


Dreams of killing, now possible in so many abstract ways,

And being killed, in more ways than imaginable,

And dying, inside, for real, but what is real in these dreams?

And not.

Which is it? Which was it? Which happened first?

Who was where? When? Why?


It’s restless dreams

And sweat-soaked sorting

It all out, getting it right

This time

Changing just one thing

Or every thing


A dream deferred

Exchanged for other dreams

Of just making it through one more day

Of a mind that is lacking because of some of those dreams

And a body

That isn’t


Of tossing and turning

Between wakefulness and sleep

Not sure which is the dream

And which is less painful


Of dreams exploded

When brought out into the sun

Dreams of idealism and commonality


Of shared dreams made alive by

Commitment

Dedication

Determination

And Drive


But now, these dreams

They just won’t stop

Looming over me in the night

Or flashing back in the day


Not restful now wakeful

Just vigilant and sorting and sifting and seeking

The dream evolves

As only dreams can

Shifting and changing

Until the end is nothing like any of the rest

No rest


My medal

Means

Well…

It means, as I said…


With a wry smile…

It means that I

Am just

A dreamer.