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496 pages, Hardcover
First published November 6, 2012
[...] Service. Sacrifice.
The problem with that being,
everyone attached to those
soldiers must sacrifice, too.
So, as some Afghani warlord
might say,
put that in your
pipe and smoke it. Okay, that
was actually my grandpa’s saying.
But it works, and what I mean
is, think long and hard before
offering your heart to someone
who can only accept it part time.
You can tell a lot by the way
a guy kisses. Cole kissed like
summer rain—barely wet,
the temperature of August
sky, thunder-punctuated. Delicious.
The Weight of Silence
The plain is still,
emptied
of even the thinnest
sounds—the murmur
of creeping sand;
pillowed spin of tumbleweed;
susurrus of feathers trapped
in thermal lift. The well is dry,
drained
above desiccated silt.
Thirst swells, bloats
every cell until
the body arcs
beneath its weight.
The page is blank,
scrubbed of
metaphor, flawless
turn of phrase. Parched
within the silence,
hungered
in a desert without
words
I am stranded
in your absence.
I didn’t mention it to Cole (a rabid
Republican),
I was out stumping for
Hillary Clinton. I figured it was past
time for a woman to run the show, and
hopefully extricate us from the quagmire.
Dad asked. Cole answered. Mom squirmed.
I tried to redirect the dialogue toward
Wyoming,
but it kept coming back to Iraq.
When it moved to the newly elected
Commander in Chief, Cole made it very
clear that he would have preferred John
McCain, who had been a soldier. And
that awful woman? What about her?
asked Mom, who leans harder to the left
than I do. Cole could have chosen
not to engage. Instead, he offered
his opinion that Ms. Palin couldn’t be
nearly as bad as Mr. Obama. It fell
apart from there. Though the volume
remained low, emotion ran high.
We all skipped dessert that night.