Thursday, August 11, 2005

Stolen Sister Poem

My sister is a poet...and a darn good one. I'm gonna steal some of the poems she wrote while waiting for her son to make it back from Iraq. She's younger than me so if she finds out I did this and complains, I'll just smack her once.
But hey, why does she write if not for others to read?


Was that you I saw
last night on the news,
layered in Kevlar
covered with sand?
I search every inch
of footage for signs
of your saunter,
your gestures,
hidden beneath
desert fatigues
and face mask
a mother's instinct
to recognize
the slightest twitch
the same way I paused
at the first flutter
felt in the womb.

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