I'm sorry I've been gone so long— I've been so busy, you know time flies. With work and outside interests I haven't had any time to rest. But today as my fingers mechanically typed I noticed the reflection of the pink, yellow, orange-streaked sky in the corner of the computer screen And saw my forlorn, furrowed brow And deep-in-thinking, creasing frown And suddenly remembered how we used to talk on the phone, at night, a seemingly old form of communication (nowadays), yet the chatter of two close friends seemed to light up the room and warm my heart every time without fail. Now, we seldom call except to ask a question about homework.
I see you at school every day, bursting with everything I want to say— how was your weekend, here's the story of mine, did I tell you yet about that time...? But class starts and ends
Mama is anxious this morning. Her hands, slim and smooth, like lettuce leaves, tremble slightly as they clutch the handle of Kamilla’s pram. We are headed into town, as we did daily, to fetch the loaf of bread that is permitted to each family in our community.
Klaud is walking ahead, as usual. Tati has made Klaud’s responsibilities as the oldest very clear. As soon as Klaud is of age, he is to join the Nazi Party. Tati supports the Nazis- he’s a Party member. Klaud spends a lot of time in our living room, crouched by the burning wood, listening to Tati list off all the acts Klaud will have to follow through with as soon as he is older. It seems to me that Tati already has a foot in the future; he is always three steps ahead of everyone else.
In Vermont, the middle of spring means everything is brown.
The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads. The bark of the newly-budding trees, Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come. The grass that remains pale and scratchy, Newly free of its heavy winter coating.
A walk in the woods brings new life To this time so devoid of color. Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.
It comes from the chirps and songs of birds, Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise, Breaking the silence of the winter months, As barren as the cold landscape itself.
It comes from the sticky sweet sap Oozing from the maple trees, Collected in metal buckets, To later coat your tongue and breakfast, Thick and rich like honey.
It comes from the smell, That is so strongly the smell of spring,
I think I discovered a journal of a superhero. I was walking on my merry way when something fell out of the sky and bonked me on the head. I looked around for what might have hit me and I saw a journal on the ground. I’m a nosey person, I can’t help it, so I picked it up and went to the park to read it. I sat down on the bench and read away.
It was like someone was making up a story, but the story sounded oddly familiar and the powers the person gained was the ones of the superhero that flies around the city and helps citizens and stops evil doers. If someone like that wasn’t from around here, then I would have thought that it was a story someone made up and accidentally pushed it out the window, but no. I knew who it belonged to. So the next time I was saved by that superhero, I gave them back their journal. I said,
“I think you dropped this” and the superhero stared at me, I think in fear, so I then said,
I watch silently as a woman brings in another one, strapped to the chair. This one is quiet as she is placed in front of a table. Beside her, a fellow resident is pouring milk into his napkin with determination. The woman frowns and grabs his arm, “stop doing that.” He doesn’t reply, but puts the cup down. The minute that the woman disappears around the corner, he picks up the milk once more and continues his mission.