Life first fell apart when I was five.
Ducks flew upside down trying to save me from snakes
slithering toward the thin line of light that signaled their escape
out the garage and back to their swamp.
While flashlights lit my glory hole.
Five years young and open
to boys, yelling words I tuned out,
“Crush. Kill. Destroy.”
Threats and anxiety
wailed under airplanes.
When stories are told
of lives falling from skies in spiraled animation
my head disappears in yesterday’s cockpits
and bitterness visits my eyes.
Brenda Warren 2012
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