On Swearing

by Gary Dop 
  
In Normandy, at Point Du Hoc
where some Rangers died, 
dad pointed to an old man 
20 feet closer to the edge than us,
asking if I could see 
the medal the man held 
like a rosary.  
As we approached the cliff
the man's swearing, each bulleted 
syllable, sifted back 
toward us with the ocean wind.
I turned away,
but my shoulder was held still
by my father's hand,
and I looked up at him
as he looked at the man.



Sgt. Brian Arturez

by Gary Dop 
  
First, I try doctor, 
place his cords, 
and his stomach
from outside to within.
 
Then, I play priest,
whisper a Mary 
and look from his face
to his crucifix.
 
Last, he says,"Emily." 
His eyes fix,
and I allow my lips
to meet his.

As he leaves it,
I wonder where 
we get our ideas
about the world.

© 2007 by Gary Dop. All rights reserved.
Gary Dop is a creative writing professor at North Central University in the Twin Cities. His plays have been performed around the country and his poems have appeared, most recently, in Pilgrimage, Carillon and The Reynolds Review. He studied poetry with Ted Kooser at the University of Nebraska MFA program, and directs the new Taproot Reading Series in Minneapolis’ Elliot Park Neighborhood.