In which one being can command obedience,
And all others must respond with expedience.
But this power exists only in the minds
Of the foolish and the blind.
For no one’s fate but thine
Can your own two hands confine.
So if we refuse to obey
There is nothing they can do or say.
And the “power” that they held so dear
Will turn to naught but bitterness and fear.
For too late, will they realize,
That they are just fools in our eyes.
It stares off into space, but does it literally.
While my mind wanders far and wide, but without purpose or choice.
It stays in one place all the time, just collecting dust.
While I sit at my desk all day, wishing I were someplace else.
It must gather light to see, yet still needs me to interpret it.
While I gather all the knowledge I can, without knowing what to do with it.
Everyone is here.
Why is Mom crying?
What am I wearing?
A suit?
They all look so sad.
They’re whispering.
Where am I?
It’s soft.
They’re talking about me.
“I’m right here!”
It’s shaking!
What’s going on?
Why don’t they see me?
Why don’t they hear me?
It’s falling!
It stopped.
What’s that?
A coffin?
What?
Something hit it.
They’re burying someone.
Who?
Oh no!
They’re burying me!
Wait!
I’m still here!
It’s fading.
Where am I?
I don’t want to go!
Can’t I stay?
It’s gone.
They’re gone.
It’s dark again.
Stars!
They’re so beautiful!
And close!
I’m free!
I can see them all.
Some talked about later that day, others later that week, and still others talked about the years to come. All of them had plans, all but him. Most of them were going on to college. Others had jobs lined up, or were already working. They talked of moving out, of living on their own. He thought of how he hated school, of how relieved he was being out.
Most of them had chosen careers, or at least majors. They knew what they wanted, and were prepared to get it. They were choosing colleges and planning on what classes they would take. The line started to move, the ceremony was beginning.
The students all filed out onto the field, into pre-defined rows. They smiled as they walked out onto the field, waved to family and friends. Flashes went off like silent machine guns from the bleachers. Relatives called out or waved. Friends whistled and called their names. They were the heroes of the hour.
Finally everyone was quite and the speakers began their speeches. Students and spectators shuffled their feet and shifted in their chairs. Everyone else was anxious, but he was bored. He thought the ceremony was pointless. His mind wandered as the speakers went on about the students’ futures, about college and careers. But he didn’t think about the future. The future was just some distant place read about but never seen.
The speakers finished and started calling up graduates. The students all stood up and got ready. Spectators picked up schedules and tried to figure out when their graduate was going to walk up and accept his/her diploma. Each student smiled broadly as they accepted their empty diploma cases.
When all the students were back in their places the speaker told them to switch their tassels to the other side of their caps and declared them graduates. Everyone cheered, some hugging each other in their excitement. He watched as caps flew into the air. He saw the happy faces and heard the laughter.
The ceremony was over. The students started filing off to join their families and friends. They congratulated each other and smiled at each other. For a moment, he felt connected. He felt like he really was one of them, marching off into the future. Then the moment passed, and he was alone, walking among happy strangers towards some uncertain destination.
After collecting his diploma, he rejoined his family and went home to his graduation party. He quickly removed his cap and gown, they were not for him. He felt guilty, he hadn’t accomplished anything. He had barely graduated. He didn’t deserve the attention, he didn’t even have any goals, or any hope for the future. The future was just a misty haze, no different than the present.
Like the blood pouring from his leg.
His body as rigid with anger,
As his wife’s body was in death.
The thug tried to beg for his life as he strangled him.
The thug who killed his wife.
He seemed to hear his wife’s voice in his head,
Telling him to let go, to live on.
He didn’t want to hear her.
He wanted this miserable thug to pay.
His wife’s voice seemed to say that if he killed him,
His life would be over.
She didn’t want that.
He was unwilling to let go of his anger,
But he let go of the thug.
So propped up by fear,
The thug fell when released,
Crouching, coughing, whimpering on the ground.
The man called the police and waited.
He held his anger close to him,
Like he had held his wife in life.
When the police arrived,
He told them what happened without emotion.
An ambulance arrived with the police.
He held his anger in his eyes,
Sitting motionless,
While the paramedic examined his wound,
And the police handcuffed the thug.
He held on for dear life,
While the police car with the thug safely inside,
Drove out of his sight.
Once they were gone,
He let go,
And let his tears fall.
The line moves slowly forwards as I think of what I’ll say. Should I say she inspires me? Should I say I love her work? Should I ask if her if she’d look at mine?
The air gets thicker as I crawl further into the store. My hands are sweaty and I almost drop my book. My nerves are tying my stomach into knots and making me dizzy.
The line suddenly shifts forward; someone must have gotten impatient. I nearly trip over the “Caution: Wet Floor” sign lying on the floor.
What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, what to say. Maybe I should tell her I’ve read every one of her books, or would that seem too ingratiating?
The line’s getting shorter; she’s only a few feet away. What will I say? I may never get another chance to talk to her. I’ve got to say something.
Suddenly I’m standing at the table, she’s only a couple feet away at the other side. She says hello and reaches across to take my book. My mouth moves, but no words come out. I numbly hand her my book and she signs it. She smiles and turns to the next person in line. “Coward!” I think, as I stumble out of the store.
As I pulled up in front of Lisa’s house I heard the echo of distant gunshots. A man walked by across the street with an M-16 in his hands. I waited until he was gone and raced to Lisa’s door. I held down the doorbell button while I wailed away on the door. There was a startled crash inside, followed by loud cursing that easily drowned out the doorbell.
The door opened and I was relieved to see Lisa wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest. But she was wearing a strange, bulky bodysuit. Without a word she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. “What’s going on?” she asked, loudly. All I could get out was, “What’s that you’re wearing?” She gave me a little half smile, spun around, and asked me what I thought. She told me it was the latest thing; it could stop a 45-caliber bullet without even leaving a bruise.
“What is going on?” I yelled.
She stared at me blankly. I told her about what happened at the gas station, the bulletproof vests, and the man with the M-16. She stared at me for a short while and said “So? Oh, you forgot your vest! Here, take my old one.” And pulled a bullet scarred vest out of the closet. I couldn’t help but ask how many times she had been shot, and why. She looked at me strangely and said I should go home and sleep it off.
I threw up my hands in frustration and put on the vest, shrugged my jacket on over it, and got back in my car. I shook my head as I waited for a Caravan, with a 50-caliber machine gun on top, to drive by. I sped home as quickly as I’d come. A BMW riddled with bullet holes was sitting outside my neighbor’s house.
I locked my car, ran into my house, and locked it up tight. Without bothering to take off my jacket, I dove into bed. I couldn’t get the line, “There’s no place like home” out of my head. Finally, I fell asleep.
Lisa woke me up the next day. She looked worried. “Are you all right? You were acting pretty strange last night.”
“Uh, yeah, I think so.” I said. Everything looked normal. It must have been a dream! I told her all about it.
“You sure have a good imagination!” she said when I was finished.
We both laughed while I climbed out of bed. I was so relieved it was a dream; it had seemed so real. Of course it had to have been a dream. Nothing that strange could be real.
I realized I was still wearing my jacket so I took it off. Lisa’s face suddenly froze in a shocked expression. I asked her what was wrong. She had trouble speaking at first, then asked, “Why are you wearing a bulletproof vest?”
They clean our air and shade our cars,
Then feed us in our salad bars.
Yet form, they do, something greater,
Which we take for granted and call nature.
With my mother in her garden I did see,
The value of the bird and tree.
We weeded, watered, and planted,
Then sat back and panted.
But worth it, it was, the effort we made,
As we witnessed the birth and growth of shade.
So now I look around and see,
The spirit of the crow and tree.
All alive, all worthwhile,
Even those that live by guile.
And look forward, I do, to a future I see,
Where all are safe, particularly the tree.