The Soldier Who Wore Yellow Clovers

A dream poem and commentary about war and children

We milled about, our gray uniforms indistinguishable from the battlefield, the blood camouflaged by the muck, our eyes unblinking in this lull behind the lines.

Then she arrived, a soldier as besmirched as the rest, but she wore yellow clovers stuck within the mud of her uniform, little suns that awakened us from our daze.

How I wanted to touch her — we all did — she smiled with the afterglow of being on leave with her husband, her warmth returning our humanity. “Will they approve of my uniform?” she softly asked. We laughed and assured her she would blend in with any patches of clover.

And then we saw the little girl. The blonde hair. The blue dress. No one noticed her splayed body before the return of our flowered comrade.

“We must take her home,” she cried as she held the body. Why her? we thought, we have seen thousands of mini corpses, until we were able to see none at all.

“I know her mother, and her daughter represents them all.”

We nodded in agreement and placed the little body into the Red Flyer wagon, a little hand outstretched beckoning us all to follow as I pulled her over the bumpy road.

Sitting now in a chair a dream away, holding the novel with that scene, I wept as I read this passage — crying for the little girl, the muck-stained soldiers, and the soldier of the yellow clovers; those tears carrying me into the dawn of this Armistice Day, watering my pillow, inspiring me to write this poem.

And as I write, the tears return once more.

— Janaka Stagnaro

A dream within a dream. And perhaps I dream still on this Armistice Day or Veterans Day. It is a holiday created to celebrate the end of the slaughter of WWI, the war to end all wars. Unfortunately, war hasn’t stopped, and the children in Ukraine, Sudan, Myanmar, Israel, Palestine, the United States (yes, we are at war, an inner war, where children and the crazed carry military arms), Yemen, Syria, Iraq, and more fall lifeless, futures unspent. We, the United States, have been involved in so many military operations since then, where service people have lost their lives and limbs and soulful parts of themselves; we would have too many holidays honoring each conflict. So, we lump all the casualties together on this day.

I think what happens when we mix up this day of honoring those who serve with a day that should be a warning that war has no victors is that we continue to promote the war machine. After the horrific way citizens treated returning military personnel during the Viet Nam War, I understand we need to show love, appreciation, and kindness to all who have fought and who carry physical and mental wounds, and who now because we have a volunteer military, are primarily of lower economic levels and are people of color.

What I don’t like about this day is the flavoring of patriotism that stirs passions to recruit our youth so that they might be honored in the future with the holiday’s pomp in yet another war.

Maybe another holiday is needed where teachers, farmers, health care professionals, emergency personnel, and anyone promoting life are honored. Let there be a day when we celebrate life — a day when we pull around gleefully, squealing children in their Red Flyers.

May true peace, which includes inner and outer, be with us all on this day and all days.

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