1965

This is my first real attempt at a historically based poem so bare with me!

Like thirty three-colored
pinwheels, she blows
away through the door.
She catches an up
draft and sails
into the cloud that
hovers over the
house she left
behind.

If only I could
feel like this every
day. She told
herself this not
knowing the infinite
possibilities she
possessed.

She knew
the crash would
not be as fun and
she would shatter to
the ground like the stained
glass windows of the Lutheran
churches in Memphis.

Til then she floated
passed an air
force pilot on his
way to ‘Nam and tipped
his freshly trimmed
head her way, not
knowing he would
burn and beg for
the splintered bits of
Mary as he lay strewn on
the pavement.

Would he wish for the fire
hose then? Or perhaps
the Germans who gallop toward
him as he lies
flat on his stomach,
praying for one of the other
thirty two.

She can’t be bothered with
this thought as she hinges on
a bit of breeze that can take her
home and away from the
terror that lies
at her front door.

Reviews

[deathcabxcutiex]

I'm having a love-eh relationship with this piece... there's a few parts I really like. the Memphis glass bit, I know what you were going for, but I'm not feeling it. I got used to the "Til then" but love the 'Nam bit all the way to the end. I'd say overall, good first attempt!