A Picasso face
with one eye a piece of nose
a dented skull distorted melted
cubism done in red black and blue
one hand one and a half limbs.
A rearranged montage
of her soldier son.
His mother turned away
in a silent scream
beyond anguish beyond tears
face buried between her palms.
She picked up his favorite
vanilla ice cream from a tray
walked in and sat where an eye used to be
touched his handless wrist
whispered his name in a maimed ear.
A low primal cry from deep within
came through his Picasso face
the sound of her little boy
now very far away
moaning for her breast.
Like a priest placing the Eucharist
in his body for the first time
she scooped a spoon
of the sacred vanilla and placed it gently
on his tongue through the hole
where his lips used to be.
He grasped her hand
still with the spoon
a tear falling from his Picasso eye
and she knew at that moment
she would never pray again.
.
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I was a Staff Sergeant in the Army (served from 11/ 63 – 11/67) when I came down with appendicitis. My burst appendix put me serious condition for a while. I wound up in a naval hospital in St. Albans, NY in a ward filled with wounded soldiers and Marines from Vietnam. As I recovered, I began running errands for the hospital since I was the healthiest guy on the ward. A few days before Christmas 1966 I was discharged to make room for the wounded.
One day I had to go to the burn unit and saw a teen soldier badly burned with a flame thrower. The soldier behind him had been killed and his death throes set off the weapon. Our teen Marine had virtually no face.
Then I saw his mother.
This piece simply poured out of me 40 plus years later.
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http://www.drawingsomeone.com/pablo-picasso-painting/
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The price of Honor
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An excerpt from “Initial Verses – a Collection of Poems on Love, Loss, Poverty and War”
toritto 
Very moving, and all the more telling, coming from your personal experience.
Regards as always, Pete.
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Wow.
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