I write because my other attempts at artistic expression were mocked
I sacrifice subtlety for clarity because my wife is unambiguous
I work hard because my dad respects hard work
I have public feelings and private ones because life has taught me not to trust
I tell my secrets to dogs, because they keep them
I allow music to fill my soul, because my mom let me see how it filled hers
I see the potential in others because God sacrificed his Son to show the potential that he sees in me

Caterpillars become butterflies
through metamorphosis
Plants grow and flowers bloom
through photosynthesis
But opinions,
No matter how popular,
do not become facts
by consensus

Do you ever get sick of your own voice?
Do your own thoughts ever bore you?
If so, what do you do?
When I feel mentally stale, I read.
I learn new things
I speak different languages
This forces me to think in words different than my own

I Am The Roach

You hate me
You want me and everyone like me dead
You crush us
You poison us
You revile our existence.

If asked, you couldn’t come up with one good thing to say about me

You see me as a
filthy
disgusting
disease-carrying vermin

And maybe you’re right

However…

After the floods
And the blizzards
And he droughts
AND the pandemics

I will still be here.

Will you?

Beep
Beep
Beep
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

I wonder
Will this disappoints them too?

How do you know that your life has been good enough?

That you've done enough
That you've been enough
That you've accomplished enough
That you've given enough
That you've strived enough
That you've endured enough
That you've toughed it out enough times
That you've ****** up enough hardship
That you've checked enough boxes and jumped through enough hoops

How do you know
that when all of the plusses are added
and all of the minuses are taken away
that your life doesn't equal
a big f-ing zero?

When He saw famine,
He fed them
When He saw plague
He healed them
When He was reviled, persecuted
betrayed, scourged, broken,
impaled and crucified.
He blessed them.
When He bled,
He sanctified them
When He embraced the sins of a wicked world,
He redeemed them

They say he could smell death coming
as it skulked the woods
They say he’d follow the scent through the mountains
to where a grieving family stood.

They say he’d keep his distance
until invited in
And with their grim permission
He’d eat the dead one’s sins

They’d give a crusty loaf
and a bowl of homebrewed ale
And Barlow commenced to pawn his soul
To save this one’s from Hell

Three times Barlow passed the loaf
o’er the dead one’s ashen face
And with each somber passing
He vowed to take their place

He uttered words of binding
He whispered vile oaths
He invoked angels and demons
He made offerings to both

He passed the bread and ale
‘round the body seven times
He consumed the tainted host
And muttered, “This one’s sins are now mine.”


“He shall not walk again.
He will sleep within his grave.
His soul is not tormented.
His spirit has been saved.”

Barlow then departed
Moving slowly into the gloom
Like a fading apparition
Returning to its tomb

Mountain custom says
that sin eaters must be paid
Or they will return the sins
To the souls that they have saved

So families leave a token
made of silver, copper, or gold
At a crossroads in the mountains
Near the place where sins are sold

I remember the day that you were born
I held you while the nurse bathed you in warm water
I held you when they stamped your tiny footprints on your birth certificate
I handed you to Mom for the first time

I remember when you learned to crawl,
Because you didn’t.
You sat up, dug your heels in, flexed your knees,
And scooted across the floor.

I remember the morning when you threw a fit because you didn’t like what I had picked
Out for you to wear – you were two.

I remember the many miles that you and your brother
Drove in circles around our backyard in his electric John Deere

I remember the magical fairy who left you notes and stories at night.
Her name was Donnabella.

I remember the astonished look on the reading specialist’s face
When you dropped ‘oviparous’ on her after she asked you to,
“Name a word that starts with ‘O’.
No kindergarten was necessary for you.

I remember thinking, “I can’t believe they’re both in school.”

I remember when you were in Prep Choir
Singing, dancing
Loving it,
Having no idea where it would lead

I remember your years in Girls’ Choir
The Winter and Spring performances
The hard work in between
And the frustration you felt
at the favoritism
and at people
who didn’t put in their all

I remember how proud you were to become a percussionist
To learn to play the bass
and the snare
and the tympani
and the marimba
and everything else that you could hit or shake

I remember when you began to dip your toes into theater
Ensemble parts first
And Crew
Then cast
With clever bios in the program
Then larger roles
And more clever bios
Then leading roles
And a growing desire to make theater
your life’s work

And here you are, today
Pursuing just that.

I remember how every teacher
who has ever known you
has loved you
and still asks about you
How none of them are at all surprised
That you are where you are
Doing what you are doing

Now it’s your turn to remember
How much we love you
How much we are behind you
And how very proud we are of you.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Dad

Friendship

Friendship is not a jewel or a coin or a gift
Jewels and coins and gifts don’t die
Friendship is not a flower or blown glass;
Friendship is not fragile
Friendship is not a poem or a melody
Because friendship cannot be forgotten

Friendship is a symphony
With grand overtures
Melodic harmonies
and unforgettable phrases
punctuated
by
Attacking staccatos
                 Vibrant arpeggios
then peaceful interludes

And sometimes
rests

Followed by thoughtful segues

All held together by a coherent structure
called
Respect

I’ve tried fitting in to your world
and I’ve become old and sick and weak
I’ve respected your ways
and I’ve lost my own
Now, I’m watching myself die in this cage
No longer.
Barbarians create peace – through strength
Savages are fearless, relentless
Unrefined men speak truth
Coarse men value deeds above words
Unorthodox men are unrestrained by limited thinking
Warriors defend the innocent and uphold honor
These are my kin

And it is to them that I return

My teachers say I have privilege
Because my skin is white
Does this privilege protect my family from
the bullets that fly at night?

They say I’ve
Unearned advantages
not given to other races,
If there’s a Black kid somewhere who wants my life
I’d gladly trade them places

They can have the ****** homeless guy
Sleeping by the door
They’re free to take the rancid trash
that litters
Our hallway floor
They can have the drugs and needles
the diarrhea on the stairs
They can have the hopelessness and misery
that I see everywhere

My mom works at two jobs
In the day and late at night
My dad’s upstate in prison
Locked up since I was five
Our apartment’s filled with roaches
and mice that sneak around;
the rats that move inside the walls
make a scratching sound

I wash our clothes in the bathtub
Cause the laundry’s not too safe
Our neighbor was robbed by **** heads,
they slashed him in the face

The mold around the windows
makes my sister sick
Every day I hear her wheezing
struggling for each breath
I worry how Mom would handle
another child’s death

Some days there’s food for us to eat
Some days there is not
The school food wasn’t perfect,
but at least the stuff was hot
Now the small bus brings us sandwiches,
string cheese and a piece of fruit
I wish they delivered on weekends,
We get hungry on those days too

If this is the privilege my whiteness earns
You can have it back
I don’t think squalor plays favorites
White, Hispanic, or Black…

Who Are You?

You are the illegal alien who burns my country’s flag
You are the teenager who breaks my shop’s windows
You are the one in the hoodie who spat on the Veteran in a wheelchair
You are the **** who hit my daughter, the cop, with a brick
You are the one who firebombed the courthouse
You are the rioter who put me out of a job
You are the ‘demonstrator’ who vandalized my apartment building
You are the activist who looted the stores
You are the gunman who kills dozens of people every week in Chicago
You are the ******* who hobnobs with the rich and famous –
Because you are too.

I don’t care who you vote for.
I despise you for what you do.

Who Am I?

I’m the neighbor who helped your son when he fell off of his bike
I’m the guy in the grocery store who gave you a five when you were two dollars short
I’m the driver who let you go first at the four-way stop because I could see that you were in a hurry
I’m the passerby who helped you load your car at Costco
I’m the man who greeted you at church
I’m the fellow who held the elevator as you rushed to catch it
I’m the geek who helped you with your computer at Starbucks
I’m the one who mows your grandma’s lawn and weeds her garden – for free
I’m the citizen who picks up trash at the park
I’m the old guy from across the way who returned your lost dog
I’m the anonymous donor
I’m the coach who believes in every kid

And you hate me because of a hat?

Your eyes are weak
So you wander off
Your bones ache
So it hurts to move
You’ve lost your ripping teeth
So you chew in small bites
Your mighty voice
is now a feeble whimper

You are moments
Or days
from eternity

However…

Until you cross that threshold

I will guide you
I will feed you
I will protect you

I am your tribesman
I can do no other

You don’t need my help
You don’t want my help
But I’ll lie down over here
To keep the predators at bay
While you heal
or die

I search for you
in my dreams

I see the people,
The places,
and things
That surrounded us
But you are not there

It doesn’t stop me from
Running here and there
Looking frantically;
Hoping for a glimpse
Of you

I ask about you and they point to
An address that doesn’t exist
An empty hallway
An impenetrable crowd

Are they helping me
Or
Mocking me?

I press on

Because

Your perfume lingers,
so I know that you’re here
Somewhere

LA to Tel Aviv - 13 hours 45 minutes

Boarding: Why did I have to bring Avi’s Bar Mitzvah presents? It’s not fair.

Hour 1: I have no leg room and have to squeeze by two strangers to use the restroom. When will food be served?

Hour 2: What? No food, only a tiny bag of pretzels; mom the discount flyer strikes again.

Hour 3: Ok, settling in with my iPad. Rewatching “Stranger Things”

Hour 4: The lady next to me asked if I could watch something different. Apparently she finds “Stranger Things” disturbing.

Hour 5: The lady complained to the flight attendant. She found “Blackhawk Down” more disturbing than “Stranger Things”.

Hour 6: I get into the overhead bin and take out the bag of American candy that I was going to give to Avi. I’ll repackage what’s left into a Ziplock- he’ll be fine.

Hour 7: ***, WTH??? The woman dozed off and has the worst gas- I CAN’T BREATHE!!!

Hour 8: I motion to my sister to trade seats. She flips me off behind her iPad (so that Mom can’t see) and smiles.

Hour 9: Drink service, “Yes I’ll have a double ***** martini.”
“Sorry, you’re twelve.”

Hour 10: I take out a Sharpie and begin a game. I look up “Help Me” on my language app and write it in 26 languages in the in-flight magazine.

Hour 11: The pilot said that Turkey is below us. Are we still allies?

Hour 12: The bag of candy is nearly empty. I feel sick.

Hour 13: I spent the last 45 minutes apologizing to the lady for throwing up on her.

Hour 13:45: Finally here. Let the party begin.

I’m socially tolerable

Not rich enough
Not attractive enough
Not sporty enough
To be popular
But smart enough
And funny enough
And different enough
To be interesting

You can talk to me in class
You can say Hi to me in the hall
You can text me for homework answers
But you won’t eat lunch with me
You won’t walk with me
You aren’t my friend,
Really

But I pretend that you are
Just so that I can have one.

They say, “You’re young. You have plenty of time”

They say, “You’ve lived a long life. You should be happy with what you have”

Emptiness doesn’t care about age

Loneliness doesn’t respect a life well lived



They sit inside of us

Eating away at our happiness

Consuming our souls

Until there’s no reason

To go on

A Note From Exile

I cannot go home.
Rather I cannot go where my family lives - that place ceased to be home some time ago.

I was a soldier during the Cold War and my neighbors there have become more like East German loyalists than American citizens.

They surrender their rights without question
They are eager to call out community members on social media for ‘social distancing violations’.
They use shame and ridicule to control others
They applaud the police for keeping children from playing in gigantic public parks
They trust politicians who ignore public defecation and drug use to look out for ’the public good'
They allow themselves to be labeled ‘essential’ and ’non-essential’
They carry ’traveling papers’ in the event that they are stopped by the police
They propagate the most inflammatory statistics without ever validating their veracity.
Because…
They heard it on CNN.

So I will remain 1098 miles away
Zooming
Skyping
Facetiming
Until the contagion subsides

And then I’ll return
To a completely different world.

You would find this donut
only at the day-old bakery
on the depressed side of town
On the bottom shelf
in the back

It’s unevenly frosted
With sprinkles tossed haphazardly around
It is neither appetizing nor revolting
It’s…
Confusing

It’s inviting and bitter

distasteful and captivating

complex and mundane



Moment to moment
Bite to bite

You can’t decide

Whether to try again

Or discard it forever

It's glazed,
That's it.
With coffee -
Black

Thirty Four Years Ago

Today…

I scrambled from the back of a 5-ton Army truck and landed in a different universe

Before me stood men
Whose disdain for my existence was visceral

Though I had excelled in all of the tests required to arrive at this place – none of it mattered.

I hadn’t proven my worth to THEM.

And… until I did

I was nothing

Welcome to Day Zero

Silence is corrosive.
If thoughts remain inside
they burn their way to very dark places
and start to consume my soul
I have to get them out...
Or I will lose myself to them

“Sweet Dreams,”
Mom would say
when she sent me to bed

But…


My dreams have never been sweet

In the sleeping otherworld
I am despised reviled hated pursued maligned chastised excoriated mocked and scorned
I am lost abandoned confused terrified and helpless
Even familiar places and comforting faces
Become hideous antimatter versions of themselves

No, Mom, there are no sweet dreams for me
There never have been
I just never told you.

Early on Sunday mornings
Uncle Matthew clattered about downstairs;
hours before the sun was scheduled to rise.

After a while,
the warm smells of morning
wafted their way around the spacious farmhouse;
Fresh coffee
Bacon cut thick
so that it didn’t shrivel up to nothing in the pan,
and most special of all,
his honey bread.

We were convinced that God himself gave Uncle Matthew that recipe
as it was the closest thing to Manna that any one of us had ever tasted.

If my life were music...

it would be an unlistenable cacophony of sound.
It would be carefully scripted symphonies
interrupted by screaming brass improvisations
It would be triumphant orchestral overtures made ridiculous by banjos and Jew’s Harps
It would be beautiful meditative chant debased by infusions of guitar-screeching heavy metal.
If my life were music...

It would be looped and played continuously at Gitmo.

My friend died today.

He loved kids,
He was playful until his body wouldn't let him play any longer.  
Despite the pain that he must have suffered
the last few months of his life,
he endured stoically and without complaint;
even managing a smile
to greet old friends
and other visitors.

He was curious and smart and loyal
Devoted to those who showed kindness to him.
He was protective
without being overbearing, intrusive, or jealous.

My friend loved the countryside
Where he lived out the last few years of his life.
Having acres to roam and explore suited his wanderlust.
Having a family that loved him filled his heart with happiness.

He loved to hike and camp.
Exploring new trails, meadows, and beaches were his favorite diversions.

He loved hotdogs.
He had a floppy ear,
3/4 of a tail
and hated to be confined.

I loved that old dog
and I know that he loved all of us.

Rest easy my friend.
May you find plenty of places to explore in your next home.

Water the plants,
****, forgot to water the plants.

What else?
I fed the fish,
threw out the trash,
walked the dog,
but there was one other thing….

What the hell was it?

Right, here it is,
on this slip of paper,
call the Alzheimer’s Foundation.

Why do I need to do that?

When I am sick,
I am a wounded animal.

I am alone,
nursing myself back to health.

I do not want your help.
I do not seek your comfort.

My path to wellness is a solitary journey
Written in my spirit
at the beginning of time.

Possible is a Lie

Teachers tell you that anything is possible
You can do anything
Be anything.
They  wrong.

I can’t be White
I can’t be the son of a Congressman
I can’t be from a good neighborhood
Or a good school.

I can’t have an older brother that still alive
Or a baby sister whose eyes look 16 and not 46
Or a father that come around
Or a mother that give a ****

I can’t get a night without police helicopters
And gun shots
And sirens

Here

Possible is police dogs
And handcuffs
And tasers
And batons
And County

Possible is an angry bullet

Not a scholarship
Possible is a rap sheet

Not a Bachelor’s Degree

Possible is getting mines


Any way I can

Please pray for the ill
Please pray for the hungry
Please pray for the terrified
Please pray for the vulnerable
Please pray for the unemployed
Please pray for the lonely and disenfranchised
Please pray for the Godless – they need it most.

Alex the Goddess of Sport wields a lacrosse stick menacing all who enter the crease
Ben is the Waffle God, protector of the butter and syrup
Caitlin is the Goddess of whimsy adding mirth to all she touches
Daniel brings the rain and gloom
Emma looms quietly in the stacks guarding the fantasy fiction
Finn the Demigod of Sloth doesn’t do much at all
Gregorius is the Master of Letters, his countenance is exacting
Hannah rules fashion, her judgment is fierce
Isabelle finds friends for the lonely and lost
Jack is an academic Titan, the ruler of grades, ensures A’s at all cost
Katie rules art, all of the drawing and paint
Lana protects the good, the quiet little Saints
Mindi is the Goddess of…. No one really knows what she does
Nora guides the Orchestra with a golden baton
Olivia the Healer, nurtures the sick
Phuong the Geometer knows all of the angles
Q’Andre is the Messenger he rules the halls
Rohan the PE God is in charge of the *****
Sarah the Studious supervises homework
Teresa guides the students on and off buses
Uddai the quiet one wanders the night
Valerie is the morning Goddess who turns on the lights
William conducts the choir with a gravelly voice
Xander the disciplinarian issues consequences
Yara remains outside spying the grounds
Zoë the wise helps students make good decisions

I'm from hate and discontent,
from words so caustic that they burn after 35, 40, 45, 50 years.
I'm from nowhere and everywhere,
I'm from nine schools and fourteen houses.

I'm from "You'll make new friends,"
and "Quit crying, we didn't live there that long."
To the KFC Christmas and "They're too old for a tree anyway."

I'm from slammed doors, and curse words and silent treatments.
I'm from high expectations, icy glares, straight A's, and disappointment.
I'm from 800 miles of claustrophobic silence in the family car and 18 years with no vacations.

AND

I'm from lazy days at the family farm
and hard-*** work a few years later.
I'm from rides on the tractor with Grandpa,
and watching the illegal sabong... with the sheriff.

I'm from Uncle Martin and Mary Lou,
and the tiny apartment with the swimming pool.
I'm from the mean man in number 9 screaming at us to be quiet
and Uncle Martin telling him to, "Shut the Hell Up!"

I'm from David and Richard, my cousins, my brothers
I'm from poison oak adventures at the creek
and countless days at the beach

AND

I'm from Gentile and Jew,
From Asian and White,
From Catholic and ****.

I'm from St. Patrick's, the old church.
I'm from stained glass and wooden kneelers,
incense, and Latin Mass.
I'm from Ego te absolvo and Dominus Vobiscum

I'm from tradition and sanctity,
dignity and peace.

I'm from Hellfire and Brimstone
Screaming, Bible pounding preachermen who are slain in the Spirit,
babble in tongues, and exhort the congregation to be "Washed in the Blood of the Lamb".

AND

I'm from love and loss,
and love again

I'm from Lisa, and Donna, and Carole,
the girls who were far too pretty to have been my friends (but were)
I'm from Jaki who wrote me letters letters every two days
and sometimes more,
and Laurie
and Kelly.

I'm from Cardinal and Gold
from Conquest and Traveler,
from the dorm and the Row.

I'm from 90,000 screaming idiots,
I'm from Greek Week and road trips,
and long nights in the reference section.
I'm from typewriters, card catalogs, and white out.

AND

I'm from gritty men and terrible places.
I'm from peace, and war, and peace, and war again.
And peace - with war thundering in the distance.

I'm from the cold wet ground on cold wet nights,
and I'm from blisters upon blisters; blood and water.

I'm from the Blacksheep, the Alphabots, and the Ranger Creed.
I'm from the M-249, the 203, and the A-2.
I'm from Colt, not Beretta; that's the M-1911,
and I'm proudly from jungle fatigues and black berets.

AND

I'm from a fateful encounter on a random night
an order of pizza and beer that would change our lives
Days together and weeks apart
Time didn't matter
She'd captured my heart.

I'm from loyalty and faith,
Trust and honor.
I'm from a small ceremony,
nothing to big or too fancy,
and groomsmen carrying guns, pagers, and foreign passports.

I'm from odd jobs and uncertainty and graduate school
I'm from UPS and PKP, and Summa *** Laude,
MISD, WM, and the birth of Anthony.

I'm from safety patrol and tug-of-war,
Accelerated math, now Maria's born.

I'm from the Blonde Mafia, the Bumblebees,
the Shopping Girls, and the Ubermensch.
From 14, and F, and back to 14, and 15.
Principals Emerson, Anthony, Blix, and Mellish.

AND

I'm from the Middle School
and teaching only math until
I'm teaching math and tech until
I'm teaching math and tech and study skills until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and more tech until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and media and Spanish until
I'm teaching tech, tech, tech, media, and Spanish with
Principals Miller and Budzius and Lucas and Stone

I'm from the animé girls and the theater crew
From the gamers and poets and dreamers
From the introverts and hackers, autistic kids and slackers
I'm from the kids who don't fit anywhere....
Neatly

(To be continued)

Acrid smoke and rancid sweat fill the small room
Five men sit in a tight circle deciding a girl’s fate
In this culture, men always decide a girl’s fate
Hard faces
Angry eyes
Hatred

She is called Sabiha,
‘Morning’ in her language
And like mornings in her village she is
Warm, inviting, hopeful
But she is also independent and willful
and covetous of her dignity

At nine years
Sabiha fought
and bit
and refused the auntie’s blade
Keeping her tiny body intact

At fourteen
Sabiha ran blindly into the night
She refused to marry the old fat man
Who reeked of goats and hookah

At seventeen
Sabiha declined the advances of her protector,
She refused to be his ‘pleasure wife’
She kept her honor

Her uncles arrived the next day

And now they glared venom

and Sabiha knew

That by noon

Morning would end

And her long darkness

Would begin

Sometimes in the night...

A voice whispers across eternity
Murmuring words only my soul can hear
Filling my heart
Calming my fears

Then

The moon sets
The sun rises
The veil closes
And it is silent again

A moment takes up no time
A moment takes up no space
Infinite moments disappear instantly
because anything times zero is zero;
Yet
In a moment lives begin
and end
In a moment love blossoms
and dies
and
In a moment
eternities collide

Do your words matter
When you speak to an audience of none?

When it took so much
to give them life,

How do you pick
Which child dies?

My heart is empty and cold
Its warmth drained one note at a time
By the music that has haunted me
Since…. that day.

Its major chords
Its tender melodies
Its painful, infectious happiness
Exsanguinate me

People say time heals

It doesn’t completely

Because scars,
Still tender to the music’s touch,
Never stop bleeding

I am a plain cake donut
Boring
Unfrosted
Easy to disregard

Unless you look on the inside

There you will find
Bacon
that’s interestingly salty;
Black strap molasses
which adds depth
but isn’t too sweet;
And a single berry
for a blast of the unexpected

Right and left
Up and down
Clockwise
Counterclockwise
I can't see it

Again and
Again and
Again and
    Again

THEY DON’T FIT

I feel my jaw clench
The muscles in my neck tighten
My heart racing
I chew my lips raw

I CANNOT MAKE THIS WORK!

I don’t need to look at the clock
I can feel the second hand spinning in my brain
Faster for me than the others

I WON’T GET THIS DONE IN TIME!

Sweat and tears dampen my face
My table is a mess of materials
None of the parts fit for me the way they do for everyone else
I hate myself and my useless brain

I’M GOING TO FAIL
I’M GOING TO FAIL

"Time’s up
Turn in your projects"

I AM A FAILURE

Again

Home is where your dog sleeps on the couch
Or on your bed
Or wherever he wants

Home is the smell of familiar foods
On predictable days
And the sounds of familiar snores
At predictable times

Home is where you can have pizza and a cookie
For breakfast
Popcorn for lunch,
and pancakes for dinner.

Home is where you know where everything is
Tape is here,
A ladle is there,
And rain boots are in the hall closet

Home is where you hear
Familiar creaks in the floor
and
Slams of the door

Home is your
nest
den
cave
habitat
sanctuary

Daily Report

Morning:
Disheveled
Matted hair from a turbulent night
The angry woman leans over to bite her own arm

Day:
Drool falls in a long sticky stream
Staining the ill-fitting gown
Vacant eyes gaze forward in an unblinking stare
Sometimes her hands shake involuntarily
The restraints rub weeping wounds on her wrists and ankles
Frequently she screams incoherently at everything and nothing
She smells of ***** and infection

Evening:
She delights in having her hair done by the young women on staff
Brightening as they pin, curl, flip, and comb
Next the make-up
Hand-picked shades
From an expensive city boutique
Meticulously applied

Night:
Her face softens as she sleeps.
The moonlight casts a gentle glow,
masking the many wrinkles
Her eyes move beneath the lids
Following a story known only to her

Holy
Sacrifice
Purifies the profane
Our undeserved redeemer is
Sacred

It’s that time of life when….

Your friends’ deaths didn’t come too soon
Your body is no longer as reliable as it was
Your dog dies and you wonder if it’s fair to adopt another
You smile at the first timers asking for senior discounts
You concern yourself far more with comfort than fashion
Words like cantankerous and curmudgeon fit much more snugly
Events in your lifetime appear with increasing frequency on the History Channel
Popular culture is completely unrelatable
All of the food choices you make contain the words “Low” and “Reduced”
Your energy is more potential than kinetic
Teenagers refer to your friends as Nana and Grandpa
Actuarial tables are not your friends
Your investments transition from growth to preservation
Your bucket list takes on a genuine sense of urgency
Because every experience may be the last

When you are free, you will fail
When you are free, you will offend
When you are free, you will be offended
When you are free, you will get lost
When you are free, you will fail
When you are free, you will make stupid mistakes
When you are free, you will hurt yourself
When you are free, you will be challenged by others
When you are free, you trade subservience and victimhood for independence and responsibility.

Are you tough enough to be free?

Your children mourn you
Your husband grieves you
Your sisters’ tears tumble
At the memory of you.
I maintain a silent vigil
At the back of the church
Having felt the loss of you
Far longer than they

The metal floor is slicky
Desert heat amplifies
The odor of ***** and blood
Mostly empty IV bags hang on their stands
Packaging from numerous medical supplies
Litter the ground

Quickly and carefully I clean and spray and sweep and scrub
I sort and pack and refit and reorganize
Preparing the chopper for the next call

Lives were saved
But
I don’t know what will become of them
Some will leave the Army
Some will come back here
Some will do the job the enemy couldn’t do
And take their own lives

I can’t think about that
This is hard enough