How Do You Come Home, JD?

How do you come home, JD, from

horror and become a 1940’s preppy when

you’ve walked among crisp,

contorted bodies stacked one


on another and then, once in a

while a haunting, disturbing

whimper emerges, not from the young

twenty-something American


sergeant, but from the stacks

of corpses and then jumping

into the lake with the kids,

college, parties and decisions


about majors and minors and

careers. Really? How do you

stay out of the psych ward or

how do you get out of the


bunker – by hunkering down

yourself and writing, writing,

writing about innocence pro-

tected so you can get out of


the bunker of rage at the shall-

owness, superficiality, which

always end in brutality, carnage

and stacks of burned bodies from


which there is a whimper, and

always a whimper from a young

woman/girl, almost too young

 girl, innocent along the beach


or in her dorm room. In his

bunker he remained Peter Pan,

the Lost Boy, betrayed over and

over by a too wifely Wendy


until he met the au pair, some-

one to care for a scared, little

boy who never grew up

even at the time of his death at 91.

1 thought on “How Do You Come Home, JD?

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