When Saigon Fell  

   When Saigon fell, my son was 6.
   His father and I had been divorced three years;
   his father had been in Vietnam in 1969,
   the year Michael was born; the year of tears.
   When Saigon fell, I sat in the living room with my mother,

   on the couch, while my son played Legos on the carpet,
   and we witnessed the chaos--people in their terror
   storming the gates of the Embassy--
   the choppers taking off, one after another;
   people waiting on the roof,
   a child in the arms of her mother.
   I don't believe my mother and I spoke at all
   while we were watching Saigon fall.
   My son was making car noises: "vroom, vroom"
   while we listened to chopper sounds
   in the comfort of our living room.
   I remember thinking it was over, what a relief,
   what sorrow; what happens to Saigon's people tomorrow?
   What good ever comes from War?
   All the lives lost, floating away
   like the windblown, weightless feather?
   (Michael, get up off the rug;
   and come give mom a great big hug)
   and then, the commentator said
    Let's talk about the weather.

   Christina Sharik

   Copyright ©2003 Christina A Sharik Updated 4-30-03

"When the Cruel War is Over" Sequence by Barry Taylor