I’m a very good student at a military academy. We go through combat exercises, one troop against another, and our troop does excellently.
Now, I find myself in charge of my own troop. We come across one reconnaissance officer from the enemy troop; my entire troop is all thumbs. I realize I needed to have been giving them orders. They didn’t know what to do.
The games are halted by the commander trainers. They are dismayed at my lack of readiness.
I lay down in my bunk. The other group of trainees have left for games. I’m tired; there is no one left in the room; maybe one other person, a girl.
I think, spitefully, “if this is just becoming a place where I am giving the orders, then all of this is bullshit. I don’t have to do this. This just isn’t for me. I’m not doing army stuff if I don’t have to.”
After dropping you off,
I find myself in a friendly gaze
or The Great Mother.
I smile for a blissful moment,
humbler each time.
It shifts a twinge
journeying its way
the hidden pathways
in the glass
it clings to.
A certain inner peace,
quite safe and pleased with herself,
wherein there is a certain
knowing of the world
wherever she alights upon the world
that same pleasant fastidiousness
whereupon she chuckles with herself
she chuckles with her acquaintance
wherewith the unknown and uncouth
are handily known and tamed:
a traveling tea party
1. Receiving, knowing
it is more than I can repay
2. The giving of such
3. The twain
Little boy: patience,
or, at least let yourself be.
You don’t see the angels loving you,
the humble intricacies of your snowflake,
the mountain you pirouette from.
I admonish you: love yourself,
still, only if it be thine will,
lest you deprive the least of your lovers
of a tittle of your jot.
Nurture yourself, breathe, grow,
should it suit you.
The bright Devil burns, still not yet God.
Art is a gift,
something intricate —