Poetry From Long Ago

I have been tearing the house apart looking for Bill's DD-214. It is making me crazy for a couple of reasons. First, I know it is here somewhere; it's not something you lose, because it is way too important. The other reason it is making me crazy is that I have to be looking for it at all. The VA is asking me to produce it; even though they have a complete file on Bill that is over 25 years old. So, I have sent a prayer up to Saint Tony (who always comes through for me) and given up the search for the night.

In the meantime, while looking for the 214, I came across a bundle of poetry I saved from decades ago when I still wrote poetry now and then. Here is one I wrote for Bill for our first Valentine's Day as a couple in 1982:

The Vase

Do you have any idea

How many years it's been

Since last I noticed that

Valentine's Day

was anything other than a day

for children to exchange paper hearts?

I would pass by card counters

and look the other way.

The heart-shaped boxes wrapped 

in pink and red cellophane

held no special appeal for me.

But, of course, you know this year

 is and has been

different.

I looked through card after card;

Mushy

Stupid

Silly

Insulting

Clinging

and 

Dull.

And I realized that no other person

could write for me

the feeling I have

for you.

So

if I give you my love,

would you give me your heart

to put it in?

****

The following two, written in September 1981, have a familiar ring to it given my current situation:

Chewing Gum and Baling Wire

Do your life kiddo

that's the important thing

now.

Do your life

because people depend on you

big people 

and 

LITTLE people

 and if you don't do

your life

then 

their lives

come 

unglued.

So paste the pieces

back together

kiddo

Nobody is really interested

in pain stories

or pain poetry

or 

pain

for that matter.

So get on with it

kiddo

and do your life.

***

Monad

"You know he's right," she said,

"we really should back up a bit.

After all, we're both adults here, 

and there really is no reason

why we can't handle our lives

in a

singularly

responsible

adult

manner."

And then she drifted down the road

and sighed

and smiled

and went back to paying bills

writing letters

sorting papers --

doing all those things that

singularly responsible adults do --

knowing 

it would never be the same

but not knowing 

what it

would 

be.

It's still not easy being a grown-up

and

sometimes it isn't much fun either.

When I was little

and got scared

and needed a hug,

there was always a big person

to push the monsters away.

I'm not supposed to believe 

in monsters anymore,

But there is something dark

and cold

outside my window now.

The kids are sleeping

the dog is sleeping

and you are home

being singularly responsible

and adult.

And this is 

easier

than I thought it would be

but

definitely

not 

fun.

Could I crawl into your lap

for a little while?

Just until the monsters go away?

****