Moon Dust

by Katie Knegeris –

The dust never goes away, not really.

It’s in your lungs, affecting your breathing.

Your lungs always hurt.

Five years later, you open your three-day assault pack

And the moon dust falls out.

You’ve washed that bag six times since you returned from Afghanistan,

And still, it’s in the bag.

It never goes away.

The air is hot; the dust rolls in from the east.

“Clean our weapon,” your First Class says.

“Dude,” you respond. “There’s a dust storm coming in.”

He doesn’t care. You’re on the armory’s hit list.

To the armory you go.

The CLP attracts dust like mosquitos to sugar water.

This thing is never going to get clean. 

You stick a five-dollar bill in the chamber,

Hoping the inspecting GM takes the bribe,

And definitely hoping to god he doesn’t bust out the Q-tip.

You know that dust is there to stay forever.

The dust is in your hair, it’s in your skin.

You will never get clean.

You can shower twice a day,

But the water that washes over you

Will always be mud.

Five years later you close your eyes,

And you can still smell the dust;

The reason you can’t run anymore,

Why you can’t go up a flight of stairs without wanting to die.

It’s the reason you cough when you laugh,

And why you can’t take a deep breath during a panic attack.

Seven years later, the dust is still in your Seabag,

And it’s probably why your laptop took a crap on you.

You can still hear the rocket attack alarm on KAF, if you try really hard,

You can still feel the rocks under your hands when you hit the deck,

And the dust.

The dust never goes away, not really.