print previewback ELLEN BRYANT VOIGT | from Kyrie
Dear Mat, For the red scarf I’m much obliged.
At first I couldn’t wear it—bright colors
draw fire—but now I can. We took a shell
where three of us were washing out our socks
in a crater near my post. Good thing
the sock was off my foot since the foot’s
all to pieces now—don’t you fret,
it could have been my head, I’ve seen that here,
and then what use would be your pretty scarf?
The nurse bundles me up like an old man,
or a boy, and wheels me off the ward,
so many sick. But the Enemy suffers worse,
thanks to our gawdam guns as Pug would say.
Victory will come soon but without me.
