We Were Small

we were small

so small

that day

in the first grade

classroom

innocence prevailed

and the world was

peaceful just

the night before

how could anything

bad happen? this

is the USA…I

would think,

but I’d never

had reason to

and why should I?

we were small

we sat in tiny

chairs in a little

room with other children

we were safe

and so were airplanes

that soared through an

open sky,

a symbol for

our freedom

skyscrapers were

incredible, taller

than even my dad

and the government,

       our capital

couldn’t be beat, rough

brick and smooth

marble were

so strong

but then things

changed, not slowly—

all at once,

like the rapid-fire

questions overwhelming

my naïve little mind and

spilling into the

quiet room

I’ve come to realize

they’ll never stop

it was early in

the day and

some students went

home

we were all confused

and confusion comes

right before

terror, but I didn’t

know that word then

we only knew that

someone had hurt

America, the country

of the free

my home

I’d never seen a

teacher look scared

but soon enough

we were leaving

I came home

only to see pictures

                  videos

            new words

expelled at me faster

than questions could

come to mind

because memories are

made before questions

can be asked

we were all

in a quiet daze

a reverie

in wonder that a current

even could seem so

surreal

plane one

fire, crash

        free

            falling

                        falling

                        down

people and debris

and then plane two

the same confusion

            terror

and plane three

where my neighbor works

plane four near

my grandparents

we were small

our minds couldn’t

see anything but

details, like

the way the ash

flew up or that

poor soul who

was captured by camera

leaping from the skyscraper

now I’m tall, but

not as tall as a

skyscraper, and

those are actually

terrifying

the world is different, not

just my country, not

just me

every year this

day passes by, but

before it was only

a memory

except planes frighten

me and I feel small again

because planes don’t mean

freedom, they mean beware

of hijackers,

which was also a new word

planes are weapons, too

and can break brick

and marble

this year I

understand

but I didn’t before

because I only saw

the details, which are

small, but horrible

in their blinding significance

the details paint a

picture which

will hang in our

hearts forever

and the painting is

better, because I remember

it all

always, we

never forget

I understand that

there is no way

to remove what’s been

done, or to restore lives lost

but hate is a long

road to nowhere

although it’s easier

and it’s my first reaction

it keeps us small

America came

together in love and

despair, not hate

E Pluribus Unum

because some bonds

can’t be broken by

adversity or hate

and I see now

how things are

and they’re different

we were small

but now we’re big—

stronger in defense, more appreciative

of life, we have

bigger hearts and memories

to last us forever

A Butterfly's Revenge

A Butterfly’s Revenge

she weaves her way

through the overflowing

corridors, where

the walls are green and

sharp like spears

her feet make her

graceful, moving by

thousands, but no

one sees

no one hears the

sounds

except for you

who walk by

her side

vowing never to leave

but never and forever

are different things

she comes to see

you mean

she shares a smile

and with shimmering

eyes she notices

everything

like her friends, over there,

and so she joins

them, playing on

the swings

but then she sees

you, lovely and

wise, and

she crawls over to

say “hello”

you say, “hi,”

but then walk by

to the others, and

leave her feeling low

and you know this

has happened before,

she then realizes it, too

but who else could

she talk with? under

a big blue sky, there

ought to be more

things to do

she weaves back through

the green speared halls,

and feeling soil for

the last time,

she climbs a tree,

and sad, you wouldn’t see, but

her tears begin to fall

they envelope her, warm

and clear, winding around

without stop

she’s scared now, but

wonders how it is

she hasn’t dropped

entombed in sadness,

the sweet thing cries,

but soon begins to cease

she realizes now that

you’re not here, there’s

no one to impress or please

it’s finally safe to

crawl out of her

tears, and with wings

she breaks herself

into the open

a little bird once told

me that leaving is the

best revenge

and isn’t it true? now

you have no one else’s

hopes to take out

you’ll never

see her again,

she’s blissful, and she can

fly and float

do you wish this hadn’t

happened? that she had

stayed upon your

ground? she’s sorry, but

she’s a butterfly

she’s gone

            free, and

you’ll never bring her down 

Four Seasons

Four Seasons

Winter

chairs are for

sitting by frost covered

windows lit

by a full moon

on a cold

winter’s night when

the moon seems

to fall as quickly

as the snowflakes

who beg you to join

them, seeming soft and

airy, but would prick

your face, hundreds

of little needles

falling six fold

falling,

            descending,

crunching

or maybe, melting

your heart as

you watch from

afar

Spring

at first, I thought

it was

a carrot, from

my vantage point,

clear and melting slow,

but no

and even as icicles

drip-drip-drop

my heart seems to follow

their percussive song

the flowers pierce

the ground as they

shoot up

wakened by the water

and the children’s

feet who pound their

soil door

sometimes, I wish

I could go along

and flowers

their centers shine

bright like a smile

radiating happiness

letting light into an

open window

Summer

did you know

that white can

go scarlet even through

a transparency?

but the tinge of

color warms

ivory skin, hardened

cold by the air vents

sometimes watching is

enough, the rise and

fall of the sun

mimics the breath

that fills the indoor world

noon sunshine floods

through the tightly

closed window

but ‘til dusk

it’s watched

because they’re making

s’mores and there are

fireflies and even the

sun dances as it goes

into the cooling night

Fall

the doorbell must have

rang a thousand times

as she passes out candy

and you watch from

your window

the children scamper

through the yard

delighting in the round

jack-o-lanterns you

tried to carve

the cool air invites

you out but the

heat from the fireplace

indoors consumes

your heart

the leaves fall

the temperature falls

but still your spirit

rises in your vicarious nature

to watch is everything

you know it’s best to

dream in safety

because the ever turning world

might fall apart

Remember Fireflies

Remember Fireflies

when we were little,

the sticky summer

evenings we

spent together

and with all the

other ragamuffin

neighborhood kids

were filled with catching

fireflies

“Like magic!” we

called to them as they

lit up the air a

yellow-green, like

light-up sneakers

we all danced in

the night, under

their light, the

world was a stage,

don’t you remember?

and sometimes we’d

try to

catch them, success

determined by how many

lightning bugs the

communal bug box held

when it was time

to go home

    go inside

I’d bring our light-up

treasure trove

into my room for

a night light

“Like magic!” I

would fall asleep,

marveling still

were your dreams,

too, filled with

memories and hopes

of following the

light, or

being the light?

I’m older now,

but when I dream,

it’s of fireflies and

sticky summer nights

there’s always a

part of me

wondering

hoping

that you remember

them, too

because, yesterday I

saw fireflies, and

flashbacks filled with

yellow-green light

filled my mind

and I realized,

I always follow

their light

it’s been a long

time, and

I can’t really ask,

but still, I wonder,

don’t you remember

the fireflies? 

Take a Bow

Take a Bow [or: Flowers for my Father]

if I had a

petal for every

smile you put

on my face,

each outburst

of giggles you caused

to spring from my

heart, I’d be living

in a field of flowers

and isn’t it lucky

we all live there,

in a field where

each petal is a fiber

of being,

strong

humorous

and full of joy

it’s colorful there,

when we walk in

the field, like snowy

Christmas Days the

colors of each flower

shine brighter through the

falling icy prisms

our field is a stage

to take

as we dance through

life, and isn’t it

funny to think you

taught me the first steps?

sometimes it rains

in our flower field

as we stand tall and

water falls from someone’s

cloudy eyes

but tears evaporate when

you bring out the sun

push away the

clouds, and make happy

music play through

a whistle, CD,

or song

the wind dances

through the field,

both of you pushing

me to do my best

even when I claim

kicking a soccer ball

through the flowers would

only kill them

again

you convince me to

try and score

I’m always amazed

at the lessons flowers

teach me

to keep growing

and becoming stronger

and facing towards

the sunny side of life

I’ll always thank you

for raising me in a

flower field

where I know each

petal was given with love

and laughter

and I can do the math

to figure the field goes on

for infinity plus one

I know it will always be

 a field for us to

dance in

and this time the

flowers are for you

so, Daddy, take a bow