| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3294 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Letters From the Front Dale McLain Yes, I confess, I aspire to be mentioned in the dispatches. I have been down here working for nearly twenty years, so, yes, a nod would be nice... a goddamn breath of fresh air. I have grown accustomed to the harsh conditions, briars and nettles, hunger and thirst. In winter the ice thickens, becomes a vault door too heavy to open. Even now, well past the thaw, there are patches of permafrost, places that may never know warmth again. Owls and wolves have claimed the night. Rest is hard-found, briefer than your devotion. From here the moon seems small and dim. It takes no effort to believe it is a stone; that it never glowed, but pilfered its radiance, a celestial pirate on a shadowed sea. The stars? What of them? Dull flakes of mica sprinkled on a rag. Keep it all, the over-wrought heavens; a platter of affected promises. Still, I ask you to disregard these dismal details and recall me with some small fondness. I will tell you what has not been touched; I have a gift, a minor one, I see the future, but just barely. There I see myself dancing in a brilliant shower of sparks, with real stars in my hair- a barbed crown of sharp light. In my hands, nothing save a hollowness that feels blessed. |
