I step through the door
into the dark of the night's chill.
My feet crunch when they meet
the soft gravel of the driveway.

As I walk, my fingers trace
the edges of the envelope I hold
in my right hand.
The wind swirls quietly through my hair.

Out of curiosity, I let my eyes
climb the treetops to the darkened sky,
where a smattering of shining stars
are misted, pricking through the navy blue canvas.

The blinking red light of a plane
throbs as it inches across the sky
closing in on its destination.
An owl hoots from somewhere deep in the woods.

My feet hit pavement and
I've suddenly reached
the end of the driveway.
The stars shine bright enought to illuminate the yellow lines.

I cross in four strides, 
and walk to the mailbox
where I slip my envelope inside,
sealed for delivery.

As I pop the red flag up,

We are all just human,
affected by the changing world around us.
Like a perfect square of origami paper
that a child folds into a crane, 
we are manipulated. 
The folding pressing shaping,
fingers of society telling us we have to be
like the other paper cranes. 
But really, none are alike,
it's just an illusion created by repetition.
A child folding one hundred cranes,
the pressing fingers of society affecting each page differently.
All based on its material, its past,
the future planned for it,
and the ways it is bent to fit
the shape that is most pleasing to the eye.

One year ago.
Today.
My 13th birthday.

My mom and I drove 
over to my grandparents
house, we walked up the stairs.

Inside, my grandmother,
my mom and I, three generations,
sat down at the kitchen table.

My grandma handed me a plump card
I tore it open with a smile already pulling
at the corners of my lips.

Out came the card, and out came
a small blue pouch holding two gold heart earrings.
I smiled and remembered my newly pierced ears.

That was back when pain meant the slight throb
where the needle had pierced the soft skin of my earlobe.
Not the death of millions.

That was back when we breathed the same air 
without fearing for our lives, back when 
commercials weren't about how safe and clean something was.

Back when I only stayed home from school because
I was coughing so hard I couldn't concentrate.

Intensity burns from 
the pits of darkness
that are her eyes.

The way she pauses
before letting her fingers slip
off the ladder rung.

Her aggression fades 
into a softer tone
as she crouches.

Her gaze slides over
each of them through 
the cracks between the planks.

They stand quietly
whispering as they continue to 
stare at the cement floor.

Waiting,
almost longing for
something to explode.

If they could 
change anything
that's about to happen,

we might not be doomed.

 

A car drives mutely across the snowdrifts 
that blanket the dirt road, 
as snow blazes down 
against its windshield.

Two girls sit side by side in the backseat, 
both just tall enough to press their faces 
against the glass of their opposite windows
and bloom condensation from their noses.

They are tight bundles of 
coats, snow pants, mittens, boots and scarves
that make them look like 
oversized-many-colored marshmallows.

In the front passenger seat
a fluff ball of yellow gold snores,
its cheeks puffing in and out
drool rolling off its lips.

The driver stares straight ahead,
tears rolling down her cheeks,
as she sobs silently, just hoping
the girls don't hear.

The girls wait patiently as the woman
drives them on through the blizzard.
They wait for the moment when they will jump out of the car 

Her head up straight,
regal perfection.
Eyes following you
like a predator.
Just different intentions.
Different but similar.
Her sleek black body is sprawled
across the puffy gray
cushions of the couch.
Her fur shines glossy in

Cool dark air whispers past
my cheeks, chilling them.
As I look up into the night sky 
I see no stars, no moon.
Clouds blot out all light
except the occasional headlights
that crest the hills before
and behind me, shining on the 
telephone wires above.
As I jog down this tree-lined road
I glance down at the barely visible
cracks in the pavement.
I pass farms with cows dozing silently
in the pastures, or watching me from their barns
with sleepy confusion written across their faces.
A truck is passing me
as I start down a gently sloping hill
when out of nowhere
two long-legged deer jump out
in front of its headlights.
The truck slows down
as the deer leap and bound
to the other side of the road
disappearing over the barbed fence
of an empty cow pasture.
The truck picks up speed and
putters off into the night.
I turn back to the pasture,

She sat
on the bench
in her park. 
Well, it wasn't hers
but at the same time
maybe it was.

As she sat 
on that bench, 
she dug into 
her knapsack
(yes knapsack 
because there's 
a difference).

As her hand 
explored the deep and 
mighty recesses of 
her knapsack, 
she listened 
to the world around her.
As he
plunked
down 
on her bench.

Yes her bench. 
Many things could be described as her's.
Anyways, she was rummaging through
her knapsack (looking for bubblegum)
when he sat down on
her bench.

He was wearing a large
many-flapped coat that 
made too much noise,
and held a pair of binoculars in one hand.
In the other was a book.
A sketch book.

She finally withdrew
her hand with the prize,
popped it in her mouth

That puffy innocent
frozenness sure 
looks harmless from
the inside of my cozy warm house.

But, past expierence tells me 
it's not so seemingly harmless 
down your snowpants 
or sliding down the back of your neck.

Or in some unfortunate cases
melting down your cold, oh so cold,
cheeks as your clumsy sibling tries
to somehow fit an apology out of his mouth.

No, I'll never be fooled again,
although it does look pretty and 
it marks the season,
I won't fall into its trap.
 

Orange and thick
it runs out of the bottle
like liquid happiness.

It creates a smacking,
popping, crackling muffled sound
as it fills my glass.

I peer down into it, 
the cold fruity smell
vying for the attention of my nose.

Once its dissappeared down my throat
I smile and watch its trail to the 
bottom of the glass.