Plum jam.(Poem)

 
PLUM JAM 
 
   We hit the ground when the shells hit 
   peaks as high as any at Bald Hills. 
   We do good work here, Mother. 
   By day we chase the enemy back 
   four trenches; by night 
   they send us down to the sea. 
   Between the rushes we swim 
   in water still and heavy as the 
   destroyers, black against the blue. 
 
   I close my eyes and think of 
   Christmas picnics at Jiguma, 
   breakers crashing on middens where 
   dark people tossed their mud oyster shells. 
   The roar is more shells going over. 
   They say the Turks are so hungry they eat stones. 
   ...