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.
she did look at me,
while chanting, “You are
one of the Few, the Proud,
one of my very own

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