destination Tokyo, he said

he said

it was on Saipan

not Iwo

that the women who lived 

to give birth

cradled their children in thin, frantic arms

atop a sheer cliff edge

and watched the surf strike black rocks

hundreds of feet below.

he said

it was on Iwo 

not Saipan

where inside a deep dark cave

smelling of rot

an unforgettable stink

he poked around with his loaded carbine

but didn't see the dead Japanese soldier

decomposing underneath his booted foot.

he said

he was on guard duty

somewhere near a barbed wire fence

listening to his pounding heart

and the immense Pacific Ocean pulsing nearby

when a corporal appeared

password ready 

to hand him an urgent message

about a faulty generator in an engine

of a single B-29 super fortress.

the mission was maximum effort 

which meant that the plane had to fly,

destination Tokyo,

he said.

the construction engineers had built the long

wide runways

which were to deliver death.

he was the technician who could make the necessary repair.

he had the skills and knew

where to find the replacement part,

so he left his hole.

it was early March, 1945,

he said,

and there were over 300 planes in the raid

flying high above the ancient city,

their silver streaks gleaming brightly.

bombs dropped.

super heated fires lit the sky.

on the ground, the air melted skin.

people collapsed in the burning streets.

100,000,

he said.

it was just a statistic,

he said.

it was on the USS Independence

that he returned to the west coast of America

in the spring of 1946.

he slept on the fan-tail of the carrier to celebrate

his 21st birthday,

but he felt so much older, 

he said.