My Bracelet (repost)

•September 11, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Today I wear a bracelet
Which is fifteen years old
I wear it this day every year
For life moments that it holds

It was made for us in gratitude
For being there and holding up
The families of those who suffered
That deadly day in Washington

Crafted by hand in Glory’s colors
That once were bright without a mark
Each year the colors fade a bit
And the beads become more scarred

At first I made an effort
To keep it quite pristine
But on this day I realize
Value is not in keeping clean

The dirt and scratches simply show
Fifteen years of life we’ve lived
We’re not defined by cracks and tears
But by what of ourselves we give

Dear bracelet, you’ll be on my wrist
On this day each and every year
Until one of us lets go that thread
Life well worn out for those not here


I repost this every year on this day, it’s not the best poem technically…but that doesn’t really matter today.

A picture of the bracelet made, and given to me, by a volunteer at the Pentagon days after September 11, 2001 to thank those of us who escorted families to view the site where their loved ones died that horrific day. I am proud to have stood there with them, to have wept with them, to have heard stories about their loved ones, to have been present, available. It is one of my saddest, but proudest, days in the military



•September 10, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Wrapped itself
Around my head
So tight
A vice
That caused
Skull seams to grind
And split
Old fontanels
To burst a bit
With ringing pitched
So high
And loud
It drowned all hope
And its own hush



Porch Light

•August 31, 2016 • 3 Comments

During the day
You can barely be seen
But in darkness
You call
To all manner of things


light bulb

Artwork by Natalie Shau


•August 29, 2016 • 3 Comments

This tickle
Burns and ripples
The nerves
A cracking whip
That whisper
Turned to prickle
The system breaks
Beneath His grip



Artwork: The Grip, by Bindii on


•August 16, 2016 • Leave a Comment

There’s a notch
On the stairs
Where something
Hit there
What fell
Or who
Was pushed



 Because I can feel the fall coming…


•August 1, 2016 • 3 Comments

I’ve a carousel horse
Corralled in my back yard
I keep the gate closed
So he cannot get far
Loosed from his go ’round
But locked square in place
Tasked with keeping that bit
Painted smile on his face



Photograph by Brooke Shaden


•June 29, 2016 • Leave a Comment

This life is too quick
To live less than fierce or leave
Sweet wax on the wick



Digital Art: Candle by vincenthachen on

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