Walking Wounded

Walking Wounded

I came home
sound of body
but not of mind.
People I've known
all my life,
this neighborhood,
this country
are foreign to me.
Every loud sound,
a gunshot or bomb.
Close my eyes,
yet I see:
blood, bodies
theirs and ours.
I hear screams
of the wounded
and dying.
I hear other screams--
mine.
My body is here,
my mind still over there.
How do I find a
fraction of an equivalent
of the man I was
before war
came calling?