Vacationland

Today Vietnam is just another destination

on a travel agent's list of exotic places to visit.

Colorful brochures introduce the would-be traveler

to its lush tropical rain forests, its tranquil villes,

its crystal clear lagoons, and captivating sunsets.

"Come enjoy our cities,” they tell us,

“and discover an atmosphere of friendship and relaxation."

I visited Vietnam once,

not as a tourist,

but as a savior, in my eyes,

or a destroyer, in theirs.

I remember none of the beauty and tranquility

the travel brochures celebrate.

My Vietnam was an ancient place,

a pagan alter upon which so many were sacrificed,

christlike, for the sins of others.

Or, perhaps, for their own sins,

I'm not sure which.

I must have sinned too, I thought,

but, for some reason, I was spared.

I was born in war.

But, sometimes, as in a dream,

I remember a time

before Vietnam,

and I can almost feel,

for a fleeting instant,

the comforting, blue hued stasis of a previous incarnation.

If I could only stop time at that moment,

that brief and wonderful moment

when everything was Christmas,

and birthdays, and summer vacations.

If I could only live the rest of my days in that dream.

But dreams are so fleeting and so unpredictable.

You can't pick and choose them you know, they just come.

And sometimes, like just before a summer storm,

but only worse, everything gets dark, and threatening.

The brochures! The beautiful sunsets! The crystal clear lagoons!

My Vietnam? The HORROR! Wake up!

I'll have no more of dreams.

I wish to live the rest of my life in an awake

that spares me the memories of a youth that has lost its innocence.

Vietnam was merciful to me.

It allowed me to live

when so many others have died.

I often wonder why.

Maybe those who died sinned more grievously than I.

How fortunate I am to have been spared.

While so many others have lost so much,

I have lost nothing.

Except . . .maybe Christmas . . .

and birthdays . . . and summer vacations.

I can't help reading those brochures

and wonder what became of my Vietnam.

Did it cease to exist upon my departure,

eventually to be replaced

by the chimera of a travel agent’s whimsey?

Or will it live forever,

in the deepest, darkest recesses of my soul,

haunting my existence,

until such time as those who have sinned,

or those who must suffer for the sins of others,

are united once more in death.

Oh merciful death,

I fear you no longer,

for within your embrace is found

the comfort of an everlasting and dreamless sleep.

How grievous must have been my sins,

mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.