For Our Soldiers
There are people who have died for me
People who I have never seen
They fought so I could proudly say
"God Bless America" today.
Friends for years, gone to Iraq
Friends I fear may not come back
I check to see if they've sent word
From many of them I have not heard
When mail comes I open it and cry
Their letters don't matter, just knowing they're alive
Each night when I lay down and pray
It's for the soldiers far away
Whose selfless service proves their worth
These are the bravest, strongest men on earth
Their morals and leadership can't be beat
They don't know the word "defeat"
Those men fight with friends who might die for me
Friends who I have never seen
Who fought so I could raise my voice and say
"God Bless, God Bless my USA".
It is just him and me in the car today. My hands are in my lap and my feet are crossed. I have been in this position so long that my knuckles are white from my clenching them and my legs are numb. It is better this way. If it could all go numb that would be best. Often I have felt this, that if I could just fade out of this world, if I could just melt into the molecular content of my pillowcase at night, no one would miss me and I could not cause any more pain. He wants to know if it was over. I say I don't know, but we know. We both know. For me, this trip to the warm springs was as symbolic as making the sign of the cross to finish a prayer. With one peaceful and silent act of resolution, it was over.
He has not spoken to me since that little rest stop in Idaho where he told me I made him sad. His face is serious, covered with the wrinkles of thought and hurt.
Not So Easy Money
I cannot believe I am doing this. I really can't, but... I need the money. I am twenty-three years old and I am doing this. Here goes... I open the door to Maurice's book store. I was told to look for a tall, dark, and handsome type fella in his late twenties. I thought those types were only found in fairytales, not old book stores. So his girlfriend said I would probably find him at the back of the store checking out maps. It smells good in here–distinctly like the worn pages of fifth-grade science text books so I take a deep breath. And another deep breath. It calms me a bit and I step slowly toward the back of the store in search of this "JP" fella, this alleged hunk of a man. Yeah, right.
I stop. My heart is beating out of my chest.&
Two Germaphobic Sisters
Call us anal (or call us Sistahs) but, with the shortage of flu vaccines, we have found it necessary to use "science" as the basis for an article on proper public bathroom usage, in order to prevent the passage of germs and (gasp!) disease!
Step 1. Opening the restroom door, without touching it. How do we do this? The best way, we think, is to strategically follow the person in front of you so that they have to touch the door and you can slide in behind them—germ free. If this is not possible, have a tissue ready to open the door with or use a body part such as your foot, knee, hip or whatever else you are gymnastically inclined to.
Step 2. Once inside, stall selection is critical! First of all, a good guideline is to pick the stall that is the best lit, as studies have shown that people tend to use the dimmest stalls most frequently. (Why is that I wonder? So t
It is an awful place
Where crayola crayons
Are bound in clumps of color
By black electrical tape
Each color yearns
To spread light, energy, me
Standing all together
Bright tips salute the sky
There is a monarch butterfly
Tied to a sunflower
Speckled wings pushing through air
Yearning to spread light, energy, me
A field of flowers
I can see them
Try to fly
Love, for me,
Is construction paper hearts
In a mason jar.
I Bet Einstein
Einstein—that brother had some crazy hair.
To see the way it was
all frayed and wiry,
wicking out this way and that…
the floating leaves
would have their way with it—
nestling in to rest amidst the crickets
pioneering that unmanageable mane.
Brilliant men are mad,
or so they say.
I bet Einstein knew that shit was there
and let it stay.
Summer of Freedom
Summer of Freedom
I expected to get hit. YOu could see the fire in her eyes when she was teetering on the brink of an emotional volcanic eruption. It never took much. In my heart there was a constant anxiety over the question of when. When is she going to hit me again?
I think I was at the end of my freshman year when I began to fight back against her violent fits. I remember bickering over something stupid one day as I sat at the dining room table. She lunged across the table and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me up so that I was eye level with her. She always had to be in my face.
Yelling about some bull shit, she switched from shaking me to shaking and slapping me. My cheeks began to burn with each repeated smack. I got pissed. I knew she was wrong. I knew it was not okay to get hit like this. I had been half standing, half leaning agains
When I close my eyes to dream at night
You are always there
Smiling as you take my hand
And lead me to Somewhere
Somewhere is a place in my head
Which only exists in my dreams
Where there are friends and fun and laughs
And lovers singing by the streams
And when we get to Somewhere
You speak a line or two
You say how much you need me
I whisper, "I need you..."
We sit down on the cotton grass
You speak softly and with a smile
You lift my spirit so high that I
Can't help but forget life for a while
So when I need a break away
from the tough times I sometimes bear
I close my eyes to dream at night
and let you lead me to Somewhere...