Strange Little Reveries

“Do you still dream about your time in Vietnam?” –Naomi Wallace 6/16/25

I had nightmares for a dozen years,

mostly the same recurring dream:

me at a party with friends from every

stage of my life, people who had no

business being together or knowing

each other, but we’re all having fun

until a squad of Marines shows up

and starts shooting and bayoneting

everyone, a total bloody slaughter,

and I see myself in a mirror and

I realize I’m one of the Marines.

.

Those nightmares stopped abruptly

the first time I slept with the woman

I married forty-five years ago.

.

But recently I’ve had a few dreams

about the war that aren’t nightmares.

In one I’m in the battle for Hue;

my daughter and her friend Shayna,

eight-year-olds, are with me, and I

have to keep them safe, get them

somewhere away from the fighting,

but there’s no panic, no fear, just

determination to protect them.

In another, I’m with Sgt. Graves,

our chief scout (we called him Gravy),

and we’re hunched over a C-ration stove

making a cup of “mocha”: a mixture

of instant coffee and cocoa, powdered

creamer and sugar, and we’re going

to share it. We’re heating the water

with C4 plastic explosive, which won’t

explode if it’s not under pressure

(but avoid inhaling the fumes).

.

In a third one, Captain Bacheller,

Father Lyon (the battalion chaplain),

and Gunny Koch are standing together

on top of a hill near the DMZ

reading a map. And they call me over

and ask me what I think about digging

in for the night at this location.

.

I've no idea where they come from,

why, or what they mean. Ghostly

remnants of a long ago life. Fragments

of memory, real and imagined. All

that's left when the war’s finally over.