If you served, you know how it was,

holidays especially, the thoughtfulness.

Packages with gloves and warm socks,

if you drew the cold-weather ticket.

Packages with shorts and towels,

swimsuits, suited for island hopping.

Littering the landscape, anywhere

and everywhere, were other packages,

scattered after the shells and bullets,

the myriad instruments of destruction,

were removed and put to use

removing limbs and lives of strangers.

If you stayed on the home-front, waited

for letters written in hasty breaks

or the long hurry-up-and-waits,

you also lived with the buried fear of

the dreaded telegram or CO’s letter,

the heaviness of packages returned.

(after an unattributed 1944 photograph of Christmas packages for soldiers who have been killed or are missing in action)

under the streetlight
after rooting in the garbage
he teeters off on his motorcycle 

Ivory parchment lies pristine
awaiting the scratch of the quill masterfully
wielded by the tower artisan

His ink bleeds grey and blue
adding embellishments of cobalt and green
until the light of day is lost

Another master work patiently awaiting his return
caged in protective iron
shining luminous in the night

The crow family
mocked me, CAW!CAW!CAW!
as I planted corn.

They waited.

Until it was 2 inches tall
then, systematically went through 
the 1/4 acre, pulling up 
and eating the sprouted kernels,
leaving the tops which looked
like a sparsely spread grass clippings.

They  told me they would do it.

pretends he’s a drunk,
staggers through town with that brown
paper bag, bottle
of cola concealed, imbibes
only the sweet fizz of love.

Sometimes I question 
if we need it anymore.
Then I think about 
conversion therapy, Pulse,
“Justice” Samuel Alito. 

Data overload. College brochures blanket my brain,
each a portal to a future both exciting and vague.
Gender-free dreams or ambitious major finds? Bustling cityscapes
or the quiet hum of a secluded campus, nestled in nature’s embrace?

Major mayhem. My mind flips through options like a restless deck of cards.
Archival achievements or something spontaneous?
Will these passions ignite, or flicker and fade into the background noise?
The pressure mounts, a decision that will shape the path ahead.

Financial whispers, a constant, chilling undercurrent.
The shadow of debt, a looming specter of the future.
Scholarships and grants, a lifeline thrown across the churning water,
but will they be enough to bridge the ever-widening gap?

Location’s siren song, a seductive melody.
Places far away hold an electric pulse, a symphony of possibilities.
Others hold the tranquility of nature’s embrace, a chance to breathe and reconnect.

Friends, family, the comforting weight of familiarity.
The fear of leaving, the sting of severing ties
Even if I’ve longed to sever some for years.

The perfect college, a mythical creature whispered about in hushed tones.
Does it even exist? A place that ticks every box, fulfills every dream?
A gender gaiety AND scholarly significance?
Freedom from fradulent politicians AND closeness to camaraderie?

Were I to curl under 
the willow as if a cat,
drift to sleep while fireflies
shimmer amid the switches,
I would have no need
for dreams.

Owls glide past, knowing
I am no cat, dust me
with starflakes till my arms
twitch—the only movement
in the wind-still night,
the fireflies now retired.

These hours, dreamless,
still, star-sprinkled, are lost
to any who ignore the maps
that fairies sketched
when willow’s roots
first prodded the earth.

                I will drive today,

        looking for a poem from the interstate,
        listening for the sound words make
        inside my head
        as I repeat them until they are strong
        enough for poetry.
—
        Having no plan for poetry
        should not be wrong,
        could not be write worthy , silently said,
        nor a found poem, a mistake,
        but traffic backed up on the interstate,
—
        a dead deer on  the side of the highway,
        may be subjects enough today.
        

Why are you so happy

I’m going to alanon meetings   

is it because of its emphasis on how we are not in control of another’s life & how I cannot make decisions for you   

is that what you are happy about   

a sense of your truly being set free   to live the life you want    free at last   since you now know that I know that & I know what is important is that I take care of myself

is that what makes you happy

all those times you have told me to stop worrying about you

is that why you’re happy

I’m going to meetings

or is it because you know you were never going to give me a sense of salvation and understanding and acceptance of what I cannot change & I cannot change because you are too far gone down a path deep into a well it is very difficult to climb out of so you can have peace   take your freedom   enjoy your life knowing I will be taken care of because ultimately that is all there is to do

take care of oneself.