No man left behind

I never wanted a man in uniform.
Though, I always did have the talent
for attracting what I didn't want, as
if life was teasing me

with some screwed up game of
permanent "opposite day."

No, military men were away too much;
couldn't wrap my brain around the torture
of loving and lusting for someone too
far away to hypnotize with

a flash of flesh, lotion bottles
in every latrine.

I didn't dream of sharing a bed
with a Marine whose nights were filled
with machine gun fire, whose train of
thought always returned to the

secrets that made him cry out
in his sleep.

He startled so easily. Called himself a
chicken for not wanting to go back
a fourth time; knowing no amount of
liquor could make him forget

how this war had already broken
him beyond repair;

no longer one of the few good
men, though Semper Fi still ran through
his blood -- a brotherhood, loyalty, gimmick to
sell all of us on the

idea that no man would ever
be left behind.

--
Sunday Whirl #182 -- machine, lust, liquor, tease, flesh, trains, gimmick, chickens, torture, lotion, hypnotizing, brains, uniform

If I were 5

In a world of my

own making, I 

stand before the mirror mesmerized

Me: age 5

transfixed by my own face

and blissfully ignorant

of my bloated belly, shaking 

narrow, boyish hips 

that will one day become 

the fabulous curves
I'm ashamed to flaunt, the
foundation of a

woman's body I can't seem
to face in
the mirror, trapped in a

world of my own making

---

If I Were prompt on Poetry Jam

Inner space

If we aren't
made of stardust
then why do
we fly through
space and see
the swirl of
galaxies form each
time we squeeze
our eyes shut

--

Creative Bloomings prompt 169: a sense of belonging

Barren

She'd always dreamed of
holding a baby in her
arms, worry melting

away as fingers
traced tendrils of newborn hair,
nostrils inhaling

the intense sweetness
of fresh, new love.

There was no pain in
the place where life would not grow,
just the ache of arms

forever empty,
instead carrying the weight
of her silent grief

the intense sting of
the word "barren."

--

Three Word Wednesday: barren, intense, worry

How to live

Don't pick your nose
or cross your eyes
don't touch poop or
those ugly flies

Clean your room
don't jump on your bed
listen to your mom
(it won't go to her head)

Be kind to all people
and please don't ever whine
follow your heart
and let yourself shine

--

Poet's United - children's books

Moving on

This week's prompt on Poetry Jam was "magic." And there's nothing I find more magic than the human capacity to love, forgive, hope, endure ...

MOVING ON

We fight
we yell
we cry
we cling
we despair
we beg
we regret
we ache
we wonder
we release
we remember
we love

--

Poetry Jam: magic

The space between

What is a human heart
but a fast twitch of muscle
a cavernous buh-bump
pushing blood through hollow chambers,
the microscopic infinity
between each cell

some unknown substance, dark matter
like black holes in outer
space ... a place
we imagine but can't fathom
though entire universes
live within us

--

Poetic Asides Wed Prompt 282 - broken down

The fall

The smell of burning leaves
outside couldn't overpower
the smell of burning croissants

wafting from the downstairs kitchen,
the chaos of
smoke detectors beeping incessantly loud,

while Mom, who never cooks,
grabbed a towel
from the counter to fan

the smoke from the charred
pastries out through
an open window to intermingle

with the smoldering pile of
red and yellow
leaves in our long driveway

behind Dad's old yellow VW
bug and beside
the spot my sister and

I liked to play hopscotch,
retreating to the
outdoors while my brother butchered

Mozart practicing his oboe every
night, our go-to
punching bag for sibling barbs

The beeping stopped but the
smell of smoke
lingered and I wondered if

the rest of dinner was
lost. If we'd
still be eating roast beef

or if Dad would call
Chen's for wonton
soup and takeout for five



--

Creative Bloomings prompt 168 - mix-and-match muse

Unpacking the trunk

You look at me and
see a gray body bloated with memories,
wrinkled by the worries of
a life too well remembered

You see no beauty in
the bulk of my weight, hips that
have carried our children into
this dusty, drought-weary world

little ones who gaze at
their mother through elephant-thick eyelashes and
see only the fierce matronly
love beneath the rough hide

--

Creative Bloomings prompt #166 - animal house

Man of the house

He was a desperate man,

a child really,

broken and sad, left to

raise three children when he

could barely take

care of himself 

She was a broken child

desperate for a 

man to care for her

but always left carrying

the burden of

caring for herself 

--

Poetry Jam - an impossible place