This Poem was Submitted By: Molly Johnson On Date: 2004-07-14 15:41:25 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Least of All Me

For Sgt. Michael Pederson No one expected I’d be famous  for being from Michigan, for being the son of a woman who would gasp, in wracking grief, that she sent me to war because there were no jobs and  to carry the banner was a way to flood the world with freedom or something, not knowing how red  freedom is, how crude and sticky it becomes.  I am her son even as the  days haze into the concrete  dust of rubble while sweat rivers dry on the dying. I am her son even though grief will outlast the flicker of my face.

Copyright © July 2004 Molly Johnson

This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2004-08-03 20:03:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.04348
Nice tribute. I loved the line about freedom and how sticky it becomes. But what about the pain, the grief? Another good line is the "days haze into the concrete." However you came up with that line it is magnificent. And why is he famous? Thanks for posting. The title is a little "iffy" for me (and that's my only complaint).

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jana Buck Hanks On Date: 2004-07-31 14:55:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.87500
Hi Molly! What a wonderful eulegy for one of the fallen. The format and endstops of the free verse, allows the flow of the poem to trickle like the sweat drying on the dying. The piece is well dictioned and the imagry is there in picture perfect timing. I wish I had written this one. I am her son enven though grief will outlast the flicker of my face....no one could say it better! Thanks for sharing this one, it means a lot to me. Bright Blessings Jana
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2004-07-25 19:11:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Molly: This poem left me in a puddle for at least the first ten readings or so, and now, once more as I attempt a response. It is a testament to the value of a life, of one special, unique, unrepeatable individual - Sgt. Michael Pederson, beloved of his mother. (And undoubtedly others.) What cuts into me (and I do not mind, truly do not) is the truthfulness or, I should say, the accuracy, with which you show a mother's grief. "the son of a woman who would gasp, in wracking grief, that she sent me to war because there were no jobs" The shattering blow of the death of a son, of one's child, when perhaps it could have been different. If there had been a job. . .or no war. The feelings of responsibility that the mother will never cease to have, nor wish to be freed from. All of these thoughts rush into my mind as I read, once more. Incredibly powerful for a 'short poem' about a 'short life' -- oh, such intense sorrow! and to carry the banner was a way to flood the world with freedom "or something", not knowing how red freedom is, how crude and sticky it becomes. The ironic "or something" hits like a sledgehammer. Yes, freedom. But what are the other things that we ask our young to die for as a nation? This is not a polemic work, but a reflective one. I don't think anyone, of any political persuasion, will pass by this way and not be moved to the roots of their soul. Because my father was a WWII veteran, I learned something of the crudeness, the stickiness of the cost of freedom - but second hand. It wasn't possible for him to express all of it with words, so he painted. And he survived, but Michael did not survive 'his' war. The 'close calls' of death on the battlefield do not compare with the grief of this loss. I am her son even as the days haze into the concrete dust of rubble while sweat rivers dry on the dying. Here it seems superfluous to say anything more. Except I want to respond to these thoughts about the rapidity of drying sweat compared to the everlastingness of a dead son. I am her son even though grief will outlast the flicker of my face. Oh, the hardest part. The recollection of his face, of the exact tone of his voice. The clothing she will sort and distribute. His high school yearbook. The consoling which she will accept, yet which will not touch the wound at the center. Molly -- this is the most difficult of losses to accept, because one thinks, "It did not have to happen!" Your poem makes that clear. It is worthy of the young man who is no longer in his life, but with his Maker. Or so I believe. Your voice is powerful - and this is a poem I will not forget. This is a certainty for the Winner's List, and deservedly so. Brava! All my best, Joanne
This Poem was Critiqued By: Karen Ann Jacobs On Date: 2004-07-19 01:14:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.25000
I haven’t seen the movie Fahrenheit 911, but I had a feeling that this poem was connected with it. I did a search for Sgt. Michael Pederson and found his memorial page. Even though, I haven’t seen the movie, your poem made me feel for this young man, instead of just thing about what I’d heard of a woman being video taped as she mourned for her son. Thank you for putting his existence into another perspective. This was an incredibly descriptive part without having to be gory. This passage twists my insides without grossing me out. “or something, not knowing how red freedom is, how crude and sticky it becomes.” The last lines, “I am her son even though grief will outlast the flicker of my face.” Made me sad and I wanted to argue, but you’re right. We miss those we love long after it is hard to remember what they look like. Memory should last longer then pain. Thank you for changing my view of this soldier life. Kay-Ren
This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2004-07-15 07:58:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Molly--Excellent free verse elegy for this unfortunate soldier (and could be true of so many other-military members). Moreover, these are the times that test us all-just some much harsher than others. This is a very creative and imaginative vein that you've chosen to relay such a tribute/pertinent message: well thoughtout persona poem with a narrative/satirical feel/tone; quite a melancholic and somber read penned by the poet. I hope I did not stray too far from your intentions. Thanks for sharing such an effort. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-07-14 21:49:27
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Molly, what an excellent tribute to one who served. The central portion of this simply astounded me. to carry the banner was a way to flood the world with freedom - [excellent alliteration, nice phrase] or something, not knowing how red - ["or something" really sends the last line an extra punch. Great.] freedom is, how crude and sticky it becomes. - [Powerful adjectives - and different, but truthful. Nice] days haze into the concrete - [then, more alliterations here. The d's truly drive this one home to the close.] dust of rubble while sweat rivers dry on the dying. Which is also innovative and creates such an image of the extinguishing of a young life. A parent's pain by losing a son or daughter cannot be imagined until it is experienced [IMO]. I'll suggest no changes, and applaud your talent. Thanks for posting, and I thank the Sgt. for his service, posthumously or not. May we have peace in our lifetime. wrl
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