Four years old.
Four years old is the perfect age
To know enough about yourself
And not enough about the world.
To know everything you absolutely need to know
Before the world strips it away
And replaces it with a fake sort of knowing.
Four years old,
Old enough to recognize something that will drive you
For the rest of your life.
Four years old was I,
And four years old was he,
Mattie,
My Mattie,
When we met in the sticker-burr ridden play yard
Of a daycare,
And at four years old,
We became peaceful companions,
Slower,
Quieter,
And just a bit more odd,
Than the rest.
At four years old,
Mattie had a silliness about him,
And a funny way of talking through his missing teeth.
At four years old,
We avoided the violent, flying swings and sprinting, shrieking children,
And we scoured the outskirts of the yard
For four leaf clovers.
Mattie was a four leaf clover.
Incredible,
Unique,
And found by chance.
Because Mattie’s silliness and funny voice and missing teeth
Were not simply because we were four years old,
But because
Mattie came from a mom
Who couldn’t stop.
Mattie’s mom couldn’t stop doing drugs,
Not for a single day.
Not when her belly swelled with Mattie inside,
Not when he came into the world,
Breathing the air she did,
Drinking the milk she made,
Mattie’s mom couldn’t stop.
He was buried beneath clusters of clovers,
And his four, perfect leaves were nearly withered away,
When his parents found him.
His parents,
Two incredible women,
Who had so much love in their hearts,
They couldn’t help but let it overflow
Into the cup of a small child with bright eyes and dwindling breath.
Mattie,
My four leaf clover,
Is happy today.
Today,
Mattie,
No longer four years old,
But a man,
Is about to be a doctor.
My four leaf clover,
Who looked to his mothers like the most beautiful child that was ever born,
With the sharpest wit
And the most brilliant smile,
At the end of the day,
Is simply another clover.
His beauty and his value,
Are what we give him.
His rarity, his singularity,
Is something we create,
Something we fashion for him
Out of love and acceptance.
To this day,
I lean down and examine patches of clover,
The image of Mattie,
Gently counting leaves with chubby, toddler fingers,
Burnt into my memory.
And to this day,
I hold in my heart the hope,
That I will meet a child,
My own Mattie,
My own rarity,
My own treasure,
My own little four leaf clover.

april 11 1952 Mom gives birth to beautiful blue-eyed girl Mom takes name Penelope from Great-Grandma Penny who died week after Odysseus was born Mom and Dad are not educated to know greek mythology and homer it is odd coincidence they picked Odysseus’s name out of book of names thought it sounded strong  anglo old money Odysseus is thrilled to have sister to share childhood with when Odysseus is 6 and Penelope is 4 Grandma Betty invites them to visit her house block away she serves them oatmeal cookies orange juice shows them her latest small painting of field brightly colored flowers birds in sky lower left corner is horse or dog painting is still wet she shows them magazine picture she copied from Odysseus realizes it is pony in lower left corner when they return home Mom yells at Odysseus “where were you? why didn’t you think to call or leave message with Teresa? do you have any idea what a nervous wreck you’ve made me!” she slaps hard Odysseus’s face reprimands “don’t i have enough to worry about without you pulling something like this? you only think about yourself it’s so typical of your selfishness wait until your father gets home he’ll deal with you now go to your room!" every time he gets caught in mistake he is punished the drill is Mom gets upset with Odysseus flies into rage yells slaps him around threatens him with Dad gets home has a few drinks Mom tells Dad explodes beats Odysseus Mom is judge jury Dad is executioner afterward Dad goes back into living room pours another drink sits in celadon green lounge chair Odysseus is trained to wipe tears put on pajamas go to Dad apologize admit fault promise to be good kisses Dad and Mom goodnight goes to bed that is the drill

Odysseus is barefaced curious exploring discovering tries to connect with Mom and Dad but they are unavailable they are his parents not his friends as far back as he can remember he lives in world of “it’s safe free here Mom and Dad can’t see us” children are smarter than parents think figure ways to self-protect something stirs inside Odysseus creature separate from Dad and Mom whatever psychological or emotional patterns are developing he does not understand obediently goes along

Mom and Granny Mattie take Odysseus and Penelope to browse shops on oak street at one store little statuette like kind Granny Mattie collects catches Odtsseus’s eye he slips it in pocket on drive home he takes statuette out to show Penelope she asks where he got it Mom Granny Mattie overhear ask Odysseus where he got statuette he confesses took it from store Mom gets livid steers car back to oak street Granny Mattie insists “it’s just a figurine let him keep it Odysseus meant no harm i don’t see why you want to make such a big fuss Jenny!” Mom replies “he’s got to learn right from wrong!” they all return to store mom explains to sales clerk what son has done Odysseus hands back figurine apologizes when Dad gets home he dishes out punishment years later Penelope remarks “that was the first time i realized Odys you needed to reach out for something beyond the family”

Odysseus wants to die he is 7 years old and wants to die he knows his life is critically messed up wants new different existence person he is becoming is too error prone ruined already he is way too ******* himself Dad’s temper Mom’s criticisms subsequent self-absorbed social demands drive him to ideas of suicide Dad and Mom are too busy to notice Mom always uses sleeping pills placidal nebutal seconal miltown whatever is the latest Mom says she does not dream Odysseus guesses she does not remember her dreams on account of those pills everyone dreams years later Mom remarks i need sleeping pills to forget about you Odys as Mom describes “i run a formal beautiful household” she delegates chores to weekly staff of brown skin ladies it is house of feminine décor matching pillows sheets pulled tight under elegant bedspreads everything put away in proper place furniture in precise order little dinner bell servant’s foot buzzer beneath Mom’s chair at dining room table maids in servitude once a week white woman with big shoulders foreign accent shows up to give Mom massage Mom is not to be disturbed during that hour Odysseus knows first names of each laundress cleaning lady doormen deskmen garage men janitors caterers at holidays tall black effeminate John comes twice a month on sunday to cook serve traditional american breakfast along with fried bananas apples afterward he cleans up shines silver first 13 years of Odysseus’s life are lived in buildings with elevators staff of residence employees

Mom’s closet is vast with colors textures ground level hundred or more neatly arranged clear plastic boxes containing pairs of expensive shoes walls of imported French and Italian designer label dresses skirts suits blouses top shelf fashionable purses hats other feminine accoutrements also two large dresser chests filled with drawers of sweaters scarves girdles lingerie hosiery more accessories Mom often wears joy by jean patou arpege by lanvin chanel # 5 Mom shops at saks bonwit teller occasionally marshall fields within several years most of her buying will be done at fantastico, exclusive import boutique on oak street clothes jewelry cosmetics are important to her but most important is hair she prefers bottle blonde color wears hair trimmed medium length fluffed up sprayed fixed as do many women of her generation social stature she visits beauty salon twice a week must enjoy letting her guard down with other women while being served by homosexual men her hair prevents her from driving in car with top down all other outdoor activities that might threaten hairdo Penelope mimics Mom though she keeps her things in less tidy fashion she is being groomed to be queen like mom maybe Mom is more sympathetic to Penelope because both innately share female experience Mom portrays herself as lady of elegance Penelope is different from Mom more earthy bumbling routinely scratches Odysseus’s records leaves her drawers messy Mom takes baths so her hair will not be disturbed Dad takes showers Odysseus and Penelope take baths together then apart as they grow bigger ****** is normal in Schwartzpilgrim household Dad hints reserve Odysseus follows takes showers Mom leaves bathroom door open while bathing she is constantly changing clothes traipsing around in robes slippers elegant silk lingerie

Transform me, dear child
Show me your visions
Help me find Hope in my name.
For I've been listening
To Peacelessness in my veins.

Your time here isn't done
Battles rage without a single one won
The Lies reach past fingertips
And Truth is painfully shy.

Please restore my faith.
Say those kind words you always manage to say.
People crane their necks
For leaders left and right
But you and I know
Leadership moves forward
With flashlight eyes in the night.

Alone.
In a pick up truck.
Isolated from every one that matters to him.
Parked outside of a Chevron station.
Alchol is strong it becomes part of him.
Family members cutting him off.
Hope is only there in my mom.
She is the last hope.
My mom did realize how bad he had been suffering.
My mom was everything to my uncle.
Crying and screaming my mom found that Uncle Mattie was found dead in his truck.
The power of love is strong, it will never die. When you are committed to someone you could be there last hope.
My mom was everything to Uncle Mattie.

She was called the queen of the night life
Ruling the district of bright light
Where wealth and beauty was well rife
She had the worst kind of man in her sight

Her fortune was all he desired
He had another woman on the side
And for this the gun shots were fired
In a duel that's heard of worldwide

He felt oh so mighty proud
As he watched them fight for his hand
They pulled guns in front of a big crowd
But it didn't go as it was planned

Instead of one madam left as a winner
A bullet grazed his own throat
The punishment for being a sinner
Who failed to one woman devote

she sits on the curb
around 2am
drinking from a large dark glass bottle
swaying to her own soft singing
thinking her dark thoughts
and fighting the fights she never could fight
in person.

what has brought her to this place
doesn't matter.
bad choices and even worse
influences
every one's fault but her own,
if you let her
tell the story.

sitting on the curb,
throwing that dark glass bottle
as far as she can so she can hear the crash
laughing as sirens pass
and peeking eyes peer out of dark windows
to see what all the noise is about.

she tries to get up
falling the first time
another donkey bray of a laugh
then back on her feet.
to stroll and sway and sing and cry
screaming up at the cold street lights,
and anyone on this tiny street to happens to be awake,
how wrong her life has gone
how unfair it all is and how
if she had the chance,
well, she might just make the same mistakes
all over again.

her mistakes are all she has anymore
those tragic choices that reek of her
twisted thought processes.
they are the only things she can
breath on and buff up and show off
to the passersby.
as if her purpose in life
was to be a warning to others.
as if she did us all some great service
by taken a path only to mark it as hazardous.

she walks and she stumbles
she sways still softly singing
as the higher class wakes
and gets ready for work.
squinting at the rising sun
she disappears down allways
to tend to unknown day time activities.
but i know
she will be back as soon as
the street lights turn on
she will be back
with more stories and lessons
for those of us who can't seem to sleep.

Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning.
Grandma's hands played the tambourine so well.
Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,
She'd say, “Billy don't you run so fast,
Might fall on a piece of glass,
Might be snaked there in that grass,”
Grandma's hands

Grandma's hands sooth the local ***** mother
Grandma's hands used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma's hands used to lift her face and tell her,
She'd say, “Baby Grandma understands,
That you really loved that man,
Put yourself in Jesus' hands.”
Grandma's Hands

Grandma's hands used to hand me piece of candy.
Grandma's hands picked me up each time I fell.
Grandma's hands, boy the really came in handy
She'd say, “ Mattie don't you whip that boy.
What you want to spank him for?
He didn't drop no apple core,”
But I don't have Grandma anymore,
If I get to heaven I'll look for
Grandma's hands.

"Good morning Mattie! How'd you sleep?"
"Oh, I slept wonderfully!
I fell asleep quickly and didn't work until morning."
"Any cool dreams?"
"Oh no, you know I don't remember my dreams."

I laid on my back for an eternity,
While my mind bled uncontrollably,
Painful thoughts flowing.
They won't leave me.
LEAVE ME BE!
It takes hours for me to fall asleep
And when I finally do,
I wake every half hour because...
Well I don't know why.
Maybe because my brain is too lonely.
I guess he needs someone to keep him company.
So he wakes me, begging to help him think.

Of course I have dreams!
I just lie so you won't ask.
My own dreams sicken me.
It's the only time I lose control.
I am a monster in my sleep.

"How are you?"
"I'm great!
How are you?"

I almost killed myself today!
Why can't I go back to first grade,
Where the hardest choices were choosing
Which game I should play,
Or how to convince my mom to let me
Wear my favorite jeans,
Instead of those silly looking corduroy?
Does my Darth Vader action figure win today,
Or is he defeated by my batman toy?
Do I climb the tree from this branch,
Or that side?
Oh none of that matters anyway.
Because if I don't find the answer,
I'll just be the incredible Hulk
On my trampoline and dodge
The sprinkler's water bullets.

I guess the hard things in life change.
My decisions were a little different today.
Do I slit my throat and watch it bleed,
Or pop the pills to set myself free?
Or maybe I shouldn't end today,
I could just use the razor blade,
And wear my heart on my sleeve.
Or no, my scars on my sleeves.
Or no.. My heart on my wrists?
I DON'T KNOW!

So maybe I'm not so great.
I don't know if I'm depressed.
I think I'm just lost.
I'm happy when I'm with people.
But when I'm alone,
I think a little too much.
I get sad often.
Okay so maybe I am a little depressed,
Maybe a tiny little bit.
I'd just hate to admit it.

When I was little,
I would get annoyed with emo kids.
I was convinced depression was fake.
It was a mind game.
"If you want to be happy,
Just be happy."
I'd say.
"Depression happens because
You want to be sad"
Well I sure don't want to be sad!
Or maybe I do.
It gives me something to write about.
No, I definitely don't want to be depressed!

When I lay in my bed,
I ponder for hours how many times
I lied today.
I didn't lie.
Why would I?
Well maybe I lied once or twice.
But that's just because I didn't want them to know,
It was a bad day.
But then I can't help but wonder
If something else I said was a lie.
What is the truth?
I get so confused.

Maybe it's because I've had my fair share of memory loss,
Or maybe I've lied so much that I've forgotten the truth.

I really don't think it's the second option,
But I can't help but wonder.

I wish we didn't lie so much.
I wish we could tell the truth,
Even when it hurt.
I dream of a world where our pains,
Are not contained within.
But one that we could walk without chains,
Free of our masks.
Why must we lie?

Cindy Prine's bee buzz ringtone ripped her from
her deathlike slumber,
"Hello. Oh, hey Mom. What? Yeah, I'll be in tonight.
I agree...no, no I won't be brining Mattie. The Wilks
have her. They are wonderful with her. I love you too.
No, it'll probably sevenish. Not seven. Sevenish."

The Candy Corn Suite reeked of ****** fallout.
Sheets still wet and sticky with sweat.
The checkered floor covered in beer and discarded condoms.

Her ******* ached.
Most of the men had been awkward,
frightened, and easy to finish.
Hank, the porky 'friend of a friend', however,
had been brutal.
By the time he had finished,
her *** turned a light purple,
her back covered in spittle;
her scalp felt barely intact.

Cindy smelled pancakes and went downstairs.
"Good morning, darling. You want some hotcakes
and coffee?"

"Sure, Mama."

In the lobby, the Children's Funhouse looked like a ****** continental breakfast. Patrons from the night before and the workers
often sat side-by-side for what surely can lay claim to the
worst breakfast environment in the history of mankind.

"Will I have the pleasure of your company for a while, this time?"

"I'm afraid not. I need some time away from everything."

"Everything?"

"Todd, the baby, it's just depressing.
I'm twenty-*******-years-old, ya' know?
I did not sign up for domestication."

"Right on. Hell, neither did I," Chung-Ae Phun laughed
and curtsied, "So, where you going Cindy Lilly?"

"Back to my mom's for a bit."

"Are you two close?"

"Um, she is a brilliant woman.
We've never been able to talk,
but I guess you could say
I respect her."

"Fair enough. Cream or sugar?"

"No, thanks."

"How was Hank last night?"

"Oh, God, that ****! He--"

"What about my ****?" Hank blurted with a sinister, crinkled edge of lip.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I had no idea you were still here!"

"Why the **** should that matter," he snarled grabbing her tiny left arm.

"Hank, leave her alone," Madame Phun said sternly.

"She's just a little *****, Chung-baby."

"Hank, you need to leave."

"**** that. Not after the money I wasted on last night.
You promised me she was top rate.
I want my money back."

"Hank. This is not some fast-food joint,
where you come back to the counter
and ***** after you've eaten your burger!
Judging by the panting, sweaty mess you were
last night, she did just fine."

Cindy Prine reached for the intersection of her *** crack and belt line,
wrapped her trembling fingers around the hammer.

"Well, then I think I deserve another one on the house.
Can we make that compromise?"

"This isn't ******* Craig's List either, Hank. Get out!"

"I want another lay with this Lilly broad."

"Absolutely NOT--"

Cindy interrupted, "No, no it's okay, Mama."
Hank grinned, his gut seemed grow, the
hair around his arms spread like vines.
"Is it okay if we do it in your truck?
My room is an absolute mess."

"Fine by me. How I usually do it, anyway."

Hank opened the door for Cindy, in faux chivalry,
then proceeded to his side.
The cab felt like hell, and the metallic seatbelt burnt Cindy's skin.
"Where should we start?" Hank asked staring at Cindy's chest.

"How about you just relax for a second."
Cindy rubbed his crotch firmly, Hank closed his lids
and sunk into his chair, as he let out the first sigh,
Cindy snatched the hammer with her right hand and
quickly struck him
one-
two-
three
times.

Hank's skull sprung a leak. Blood spewed onto the dashboard.
Cindy shoved him to his side, snagged his wallet,
and proceeded
to crack three or four of his ribs.

"So you'll be in tonight? Wonderful, sweetie.
It's been far too long. Are you bringing Mattie?
Oh, I see. Are Todd's parent's good to her?
Alright, well, I love you and I'll see you at six.
Sorry seven...okay, sevenish."

The Prine place smelled of rich
lemon cleaner.
Not a cobweb could be found,
nor ***** dish, nor glass smudge.

Margaret Prine applied her blood red
lipstick--the final touch before school.

Mrs. Prine arrived thirty minutes before
anyone else, started the coffeepot in
the teacher's lounge, and wrapped up some
lesson plans.

The starting bell sounded,
she headed for her room.
Principal Hughes said,
"Good morning! Madam Margaret!"
as he always did.
Mrs. Prine, nodded cooly, grinned
lightly at the corners of her blood
red lips, and said nothing--as she always did.

At forty-five, she could turn more heads
than any head cheerleader,
and she was well aware
that beauty's power reigns
absolute.

Two young lovers draining saliva
stood outside her classroom door
dressed in matching yellow t-shirts.

"Excuse me, canaries.
Showboat your love out in nature.
Not outside my room," Mrs. Prine snipped,
calm like a seasoned surgeon.

"We're sorry--" Harvey's eyes met Mrs. Prine's.
Mrs. Prine felt a strange transfusion take hold.
The blackness started at her spine
and snaked to her skull.
Old jealousy, been awhile.

"Kaitlyn, Harvey, get to class."
Kaitlyn Mullens barely existed.
Pencil thin, thought little, and spoke less.
Kaitlyn just happened to be in Mrs. Prine's
literature class.
Mrs. Prine followed her into the room--
sizing up her shoulders, ***, and cheapshit heels
with a keen eye.

"Alright, everyone as you know, your analysis
on Catcher in the Rye motifs is due today.
No excuses."

During her lecture she couldn't keep her eyes
off Kaitlyn. The way she fidgeted incessantly;
shifted her gaze with each question asked.
Her idiot face somehow held a superior wisdom.
The dark jealousy coupled itself with
a wicked wandering mind.
A mind journeying into
the mad middle stage,
when a prime lioness
becomes declawed by calendars
and withering mirrors.

When the class left,
Mrs. Prine could not recall a single thing
she had lectured over.
She rubbed her head, sighed a low growl,
and began siphoning through the homework.
"Ah, there you are."
She grabbed a bleeding red ink pen,
then proceeded to massacre the essay.
"Plagiarism, plagiarism. Lazy, lazy."

The trees overlapped
overhead creating a warm
cloister.
Harvey's car cooed past
the vibrant green
and sputter-stopped
at the plastic, fishhead
mailbox.
He drove up the grey gravel drive,
hopped out of his car and
with eager stride
headed toward
the door of the widow Prine.
"Hello, Harvey," Mrs. Prine
greeted from behind the screen
in her always-sugary-hushed tone.

"Hey, Mrs--I mean hello, Margaret."

"Haha, you remembered this time.
C'mon in, sweetie."

Harvey's steps matched gentle creaks
in wooden floor.
Pictures of Mrs. Prine's
three children lined the walls.

"That's Mattie, Cindy's baby. My first grandbaby,"
Mrs. Prine beamed.

"She's a cutie."

"Well thank you," Mrs. Prine picked up
some magazines lying on the couch,
"feel free to sit here. Can I get you something to drink?
Some wine, maybe? It's a red."

"Sure, sure. Sounds good."

Mrs. Prine stepped into the kitchen,
as the evening news played at a barely
audible volume.

"Oh Lord. I forgot to put the wine in the
fridge, Harvey."

"That's okay, Mrs. Prine. I can--"

"Margaret."

"Margaret, I can drink it warm."

"How about some ice cubes?"

"That works too."

Mrs. Prine's husband died
driving an 18-wheeler,
six-miles outside of Dallas
two or three years ago.
One of the few times
a sedan won a war
against a big engine.

Her cheek bones
jutted sharply from
her face,
deep crimson lipstick
and light eyeshadow
emphasized her
few deep wrinkles,
as if she wore them
with pride.

They sat sipping lukewarm
red wine, saying nearly nothing--
touching only during commercial
breaks.

When the news ended,
Mrs. Prine grabbed Harvey's hand,
led him to the bedroom,
filled with pictures of her and her husband.

The love they made--
textbook in its precision,
light in its passion--
finished chapter,
Harvey reached for his cigarettes.

"Sweetie, please don't smoke in here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret."

Harvey stared at her old life's relics,
wrapped his arm around her,
pulled her naked flesh against his,
a summer breeze crawled through
open window,
and Harvey said,

"So, tell me more about your husband."

Mrs. Prine smiled, brushed her hair
out of her eyes,
and with a retrospective sigh,
she began.

Wiggly, wiggly Wollie,
Mattie makes monkey muffins,
Bad breaks blows buskins,
Pitching Patrick past Pollie.

Remember that day so long ago when a simple question turned into the rest of our lives. When for the first time ever the public bus was a good thing. Where we sat and talked for 2 hours about  lives we had basically made up to feel good about the people we were ashamed we had turned out to be. Where my love for aviators started. My passion for you became evident. Remember all those times you would run around the block with me before school or sit with me on the side walk as we watched cody and ashley loss there selfs I'm a cloud of smoke we knew we were to good for. Remember how mad you got and beat the crap out of clayton. That day I officially excepted that i found you attractive. Or the day I wrote all over you! That day I asked you to write me a note for my memory book just to see if you might have some interest! How mad i would get at cody and call you instead. How calming your presents was to me.
Remember that day when you became a part of my family. You came to my lame 15th birthday party even though you had ran a 5k that morning and would have much rather be sleeping. Or the cake I smashed in to your face ever party! Remember those nights by the fire or freshman year trying to sink our schedules to bump into each other in the hall way.
Remember the day i was crying the first day you ran to make sure i was okay. The first day my mom was just okay with you always popping in whenever and that day we went to the car show. That way your hand and mind met for the first time in the most masterpiece way. The first time u kissed me in the back of sals truck and all the jokes sal and ethan had about it. When I used to get rides from sal or ethan or dad just to get over to your house or when your mom or dad had to pick us up! Or preparing for a 45 minute walk home. Because we were young and had a curfew. Do u remember rolling around in that field and finding our bench all our inside jokes and small meaningless walks all our cuddles and kisses. I never thought they would mean so much to us. Remember that day i felt at home in your house and in your arms. I stood behind a wall and you told your parents you had finally brought your girlfriend home and all they could say was "ITS ABOUT TIME!" And "FINALLY" we forget from time to time how much we have how much we have built and how many people truly hope we work. Remember that first November when we used to cuddle on opposite ends of the couch! We found out just how much we trusted each other then we re-roofed my house! The first time you left for Drew's for a weekend and i spent the night at ur house! Remember sitting 10 hours at a speech tournament for me. And bringing me coffee! Remember All our pooptart and shared juice box's In the morning. All our "7:30 matt get up, where are you, get to school!" Mornings all our defeats and homework help! All your XC runs and the first home track meet. The alton track meet first time I really meet your dad. We got lost and went to the wrong school! All those times I just chill with your mom! All those random photoshoots! All those nights helping me with speeches or calling because i had something to read to you! Remember our first christmas.. That is a good one or the 100 Skype calls!
Backset photos and mall trips or scrabble games at midnight ... cheap cereal dates or all those times u bought me food at 1/2 past hella late! The time you called me in need of help or the times i call u in worried tears!  Remember that time that bee stung ur lip .. Im sorry for laughing but it was funny and all those times i beat u in wrestling ... Im still sorry about that smack or the multiple i have given you at this point... And all those times things got to much and i would just go home. Do u remember going bowling and how competitive you are but i swear you go easy on me or the way that whole first summer we swore we were going to go to the batting cages! All the " i hate you" stuff because we didn't know how great an I love you felt! Remember that time you almost killed me for dyeing my hair red! all those times we just cuddled in peace! Remember those trophies, metals  and ribbons that you hate but I'd hang up for you anyways. Im so proud of you for accomplishing such hard goals! This one is for the first time going to the Muny. Do u remember what we saw? Dodododo (clap clap) dodododo(clap clap) that was one of the best night. what a good way to spend our 9 month anniversary! Remember all those "i have the hoody" or the " no thats my shirt or no that my jacket" notes in our locker or that week we tried sharing a locker. That didnt work at all! Remember all those spontaneous $5 or less dates! Those are really nice thats what I missed the most this summer. Remember how horrible Suessical was but that lady was hilarious and Bunny and Paul talked about her with such class when they said "well bless her heart shes loving doing her thing!" Sophomore year was so crazy with all the camping and the fighting and what not! With all the random notes in my bed room in various places or selfie fall photos that surprisingly turned out amazing! That hippy day that was so existing but more happy about how great we looked for superhero day! And how everyone commented because you know sometimes showing off our relationship is cute (saids the 100 selfies on insta of us!) remember the stress of one year photos we really should have more chill. that was one crazy night! Talking about crazy nights don't think i forgot about Saturday in fact i was listening to a Tim MaGraw song and it totally made me cry just thinking about Saturday !   #TypicalGirlyCrap!  Or all those hammock or fire date nights!!!  Do u remember Halloween and all the walking we did to get back to your house !!! Holy crap we walked a good 5 miles! Or all those nights we left party's early and crashed on papas floor! Did you know they frown upon that a lot! REMEMBER CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR WHEN I TOTALLY DOMINATED AT AIR HOCKY! Not going to lie thinking back to sophomore year i don't wish it didn't happen but it wasn't a good year and I'm very glad that it is passed us to be honest! Remember valentines day and all the really sick crap that followed i really hope that **** doesn't happen again this year.  Because i may loss my **** if i have  to hold your hand and watch you get an I.V. 1 more time! Well we are 1 year and 9 days more then the 9 months when I started writing this and its crazy all the things i had to leave out that we have also fought through but when 'insert who ever wrote this quotes name' said " you shouldn't be worried when you are fighting be worried when you stop because then you have nothing more to fight for!" That is 100% correct! And i love you more then you will ever know Mattie Kline above all remember that!  

Btw the surgery you helping with  recovery ..  yah u the real mvp lol

I'm singling out a VA character for specific serating at the suggestion of a friend.
David Dively seems the most interesting and that name implies he was on
Danville Skid Row a lot, which he was.
He said his disability rating was only 10% but the constant remark from him
to me that he was gonna make me **** a moose seemed to me to be a real
inkling of a real oddball.
Some people would explain to me that he'd ******* over one of the nurses
or another fantasy of some kind every morning and he was quite proud of it.

He'd shake my hand and squeeze it and moan sorta and go aaaaahhh and his
eyes would mist up and I liked it when he called me STuries like I was one of of the men.
He'd strut and he was 6'9" and 260 lb and an ex-marine, maybe a combat type
and he'd sell watches with all of them spread out on his right arm to show people
and he was always grateful for the least bit of loose change from me, like 35 cents.
He just loved bread - he'd make sure he'd get 5 or 6 slices each meal.

An interesting character was Dively.
He's dead now - bless his heart.  Suicide, I heard, over what he though was my
mistreatment by some of the staff back then.
And oh yes he was a very very handsome fellow too, but in a
kind of tough unique way.  A sort of fair-haired Victor Mattie if I remember correctly.

For our Mothers on Christmas Eve

             For Katherine Mattie Bevil Blanchette Hall, 1922 – 2010
                                         and all our mothers

Beyond all other nights, on this strange Night,
A strangers’ Star, a silent, seeking Star,
Helps set the wreckage of our souls aright:
It leads us to a stable door ajar                                                          

And we are not alone in peeking in:
An ox, an ***, a lamb, some shepherds, too -
Bright Star without; a brighter Light within
We children see the Truth those Wise Men knew

For we are children there in Bethlehem
Soft-shivering in that winter long ago
We watch and listen there, in star-light dim,
In cold Judea, in a soft, soft snow

Maggie Murch
Thought she had to lurch,
go back to church
and flirt.
Her feet weren't
right on the turn
of the firm
of the win
that would burn
Maggie Murch,
I've got to learn.
Oh Maggie
go back to the baggie
and sacky
and stop making me be your lackey.
That's, in my opinion, tacky.
She'll probably, behind my back, call me fatty.
Yeah lachte
But no, you're not like all that, or catty
and yeah you probably got a black friend named Hattie
I'll see you Saturday
and drop the name Mattie

I like True Grit
Jeff Bridges, Mattie Ross
Movies as companions
Bruce Springsteen is the Boss

Grateful for my sons
Lay in bed all day
Post True Grit scenes
Suffering, xie xie