Allegory

May 5 will mark the 14th observation of Alive Day in our home. It’s a strange thing, Alive Day. It’s not a day of despair for us, despite the solemnity of the event and the loss of two of his soldiers. My husband is thankful for every moment he is present, but it is not a day of celebration, either. I, as the person who cares for and shares this journey with Terry, am left with no ‘right’ words or ways to observe this anniversary.

Through the years, our focus has been, to try to be living memorials, if you will, to the men we lost that night. To be mindful of the second chance we have been given, and to not squander it, while still honoring their sacrifice. R.I.P. PFC Bradley Kritzer and Spc. James Marshall, you and your families, are in our hearts and minds every day.

“Sorrow may last for a night but joy comes in the morning…”

Allegory

What if, when Sorrow felt
The Carrier fell and anxiously knelt
At the grave of hope’s dusty tomb
Outlined in the bleak light of moon
With her head bowed she heaved a sigh
And rent the air with her cry
While in the poltroonish cover of night
That Sorrow did clash with hallowed light
And Carrier crumpled and aggrieved
Could not battle her joy’s thief
But as the sun did split the sky
The light victorious gained its prize
And Sorrow conquered was forced to flee
So Carrier could arise free.

An Introduction

Without even realizing it was happening, here I am, a contributor. One should really be careful what you say to James Burns, it usually results in action. I am not of a deep intellectual bent. I am simple and pragmatic. My perceptions are shaped by seeking others and trying to connect to their experience. Empathy. It’s a powerful driving force. It makes change in the world.
So in keeping with the others, my poetic introduction.

Anger of my father
Fears of my mother
Smoke and grime
Of the blue collar city
Prejudice and arrogance
Of proud mountains
Irish blarney
German practicality
Child of poverty
Companion of shame
Woman who grudgingly
Bears their name
Third generation
First with education
Genetically primed
For addiction
Forged in the crucible
Of my parents contempt
Reaping the fruits
They would resent
Washing away
Their history
In faith
Writing
My own story