The unknown inheritance of a war in prose, poetry, and photographs.

The Valley of Sorrows

The Que Son Valley was like no other

Took your sons took your brothers

Stole your dreams ruined lives

Made widows out of wives.

For all who walked away they live within it every day

Smell the hedgerows dig the holes

Cross the river that flowed

Still see the blood on their clothes

Hear the mortars and incoming rounds

Watch the choppers hit the ground

Watch as they fly away

Early morning here we stay

Memories that do not fade

The Que Son Valley was an early grave.