One of Her Own

Yesterday, while I waited for my neurologist at the Department of Veterans Affairs Medical Center, an old Marine with a prosthetic leg and a killer grin, said to me, “Hey, Devil Dog, so what she turned you into? She [the Marine Corps] made me a lean, mean, one-legged fighting machine.” He roared, and I joined him with a few complicit cackles.

I’ve been thinking about the old-timer’s question, asking myself, What did a decade of service in the Marine Corps turn me into? The poem below is part of my response:

“One of Her Own”
She didn’t make me.
I was a warrior
(baring teeth and growling)
before she touched my heart
and broke a few bones.

She didn’t make me;
but in her arms
I found my sharpest edges.

No, she didn’t make me.
I was already my Self.
But…
she did look at me,
while chanting, “You are
one of the Few, the Proud,
one of my very own
forevermore.”
.

One of Her Own, by Magaly Guerrero
if you are one of “The Few. The Proud. The Marines.”
then Happy Birthday!
*you look so freaking good for 240 years!*

linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads,Tuesday Platform