Dien Cai Dau

To Have Danced with Death

To Have Danced with Death The black sergeant first class who stalled us on the ramp didn't kiss the ground either. When two hearses sheened up to the plane & government silver-gray coffins rolled out on silent chrome coasters, did he feel better? The empty left leg of his trousers shivered as another hearse with shiny hubcaps inched from behind a building . . . his three rows of ribbons rainbowed over the forest of faces through plate glass. Afternoon sunlight made surgical knives out of chrome & brass. He half smiled when the double doors opened for him like a wordless mouth taking back promises. The room of blue eyes averted his. He stood there, searching his pockets for something: maybe a woman's name & number worn thin as a Chinese fortune. I wanted him to walk ahead, to disappear through glass, to be consumed by music that might move him like Sandman Sims, but he merely rocked on his good leg like a bleak & soundless bell. 46 ...