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dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
On this Remembrance Day, I think of all those who have served, with a special thought for Dad.  And though she has no medals, I also think of Mom; every tour of duty Dad went through, she went through too, taking care of us on her own.

*** Edit: Thank you for all your kind words!  Due to a recent outpouring of sympathy, I feel it necessary to clear up the fact that my dad did in fact make it home from this mission; his tour had simply been extended for an additional 3 months.  Still, it isn't easy being part of a military family - and that's what I meant to show. ***
 Nov 2014 Jessica Vogt
 Nov 2014 Jessica Vogt
"at that point, i don't really know what i felt. it was not invisibility nor visibility. i felt like i was floating in the unnoticeable, kind of there, kind of not there fog. Fog is clouds that were supposed to be up high and exalted, but somehow they are brought down. Fog is unreasonable, with no practicality and almost good for nothing. i guess that's what i was too."
-(midnight narrations in October)
 May 2014 Jessica Vogt
Measure our nights
by the sighs of the moon.
Count the stars
till we run out of room.
Lie here beside me
'neath the comforting sky.
Make me a pillow
of your warming thighs.
Bring my roar to your lips
as my salt you sip.
Twice kissed silken cries
your wakened delight.
Measure our nights
by slumbering sighs.

r ~ 5/2/14
       / \
 May 2014 Jessica Vogt
still hear
but now
we all get along.
 Apr 2014 Jessica Vogt
I could write a poem about you.
It's true.

But a poem would only make you love me
more than you know how to.

I could write a poem about your eyes.
They're blue.

I could tell the world you make my day all day long.
Nights, too.

I could tell the world all about you.
The world would share my view.

I could say that your days live inside
my heart. They do.

I could write a poem about you.
It would be true. Would you?

r ~ 4/28/14
  / \
 Apr 2014 Jessica Vogt
 Apr 2014 Jessica Vogt
the word grief is reminiscent of gross, open mouthed sobbing
of mucus swirling down your face, into your mouth
of the angry red of bloodshot eyes
and the drowning blue of sadness that stays
 Apr 2014 Jessica Vogt
lets dip our hands into our fantasies
and paint our sins on each other
Always forbearing, forever kind;
the interpretation of love in mind.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
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