InArms A project for the Edmonton Poetry Festival

Poem of the Week

The Things We Share

July 19, 2010

Everyone shares here, different things at different times. We share many things. We share tents, sea containers and bathrooms. We share vehicles, ammunition and cleaning supplies. We share radios, batteries and equipment. We share tables, Internet connections and computers. We’re not supposed to, but we share weapons. We share gripes, complaints and quibbles. We share cots, boot laces and hangars. We share happiness, triumph and the simple joys of meeting up when we’ve been separated for a while. We share chairs, gun tape and tools. We share cigarettes, coffee and candy. We share fears, uncertainty and nervousness. We share rations, books and cards. We share meals, early mornings and late nights. We share experiences and awareness – we cringe together sometimes at certain points on certain roads, write graffiti on each other’s coffee cups, hats, notebooks, and hide each other’s equipment, then snicker when the other guy has to search for it. We share sun and rain, wind and cold, hail and heat. We share grease guns and rifle scopes and graphite. We share the fact that we miss our families, friends, wives, husbands, girlfriends and children, but we each show it differently, often hiding it from public view, even from those closest to us here. We share markers, maps and magazines (both for ammunition and for reading). We share the cold sweat of fear under body armour and the burn of tension from trying to squint through the darkness at things that are there, or maybe are not there, or which could be there, things we both dread being there and in some dark part of our souls dearly and dreadfully hope are there so that we can do something about them, something quick and violent and loud and crisp and final. We share the nagging uncertainty caused by situations, situations where we say to each other in a half-question “this doesn’t look good… keep an eye on those guys” or “hey, what does that thing over there look like to you?” and “did you just hear that?” We share jokes, laughter, pranks that anyone not with us would not find at all entertaining, but which we find unspeakably hilarious. We share the “when I get home I’m going to…” conversations, the “so how was your leave” conversations and the “guess what I just heard” conversations. We can be mean to each other; we make fun of each other, tease each other mercilessly and ridicule each other, but we’d never let anyone else, any outsider do the same. We share relief, incredulity and satisfaction. We share rolls of the dice, flips of the cards and the quiet semi-secret rituals that we all follow to protect ourselves.

The one thing we all share is risk. No one is immune. No one hides. Everyone goes out. Everyone watches. Everyone fights when they have to. Everyone chose to be here. Everyone shares the risk. And that is the way it is.

By Mark Popov

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