Salah ad-Din Province, Iraq

When the bird touches down
its rotors cloud the air with dust,
red cross marking its side like a headstone.
The flight medic steps out,
stoops low, starts towards us.
I watch her and remember the names
of every mangled man she’s lifted away.
Strands of brown hair peek under
her flight helmet, small shoulders
push against the seams of her jumpsuit.
I want to say, take me home.
Her shampoo smells like the
pinyon leaves in Texas.





Version 4Zachary Lunn is an MFA candidate in fiction at NC State and served two combat tours in Iraq as an Army medic. His work is forthcoming in Consequence Magazine and Raleigh Review.

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