Amy, we are not helpless anymore.
Our children are fighting for our future.
Amy, I tried —
Holding on
to the lines on my face
Counting months,
for aren’t they shorter?
February, came
Soon after December.
Years went by.
I can no longer remember
What you said to me on the stairs
about bicycles, and the future.
Amy, I tried —
Holding on
To the shirt you gave me
In October.
The one, that isn’t frayed on the back
and the right shoulder.
I am buying an Indian this year
I am riding a bullet in the summer.
Amy—
The salesgirl at the store
I have been searching for her
on the highway
near our neighbors.
She said
She will turn up for a job
That I could give her.
Will she turn up in the winter?
She is tall, dark and going nowhere.
But Amy you see,
She has a heart more golden and fair.
She is going to be a soldier.
Amy, I tried —
Holding on
To the streets and the days.
Counting them on all of my fingers.
For aren’t they easier that way
To remember?
I am packing again for a berth in a railcar
Where I will mistake love
For some desire.
Amy —
I dream of a son,
and a sister.
A candy colored clown and a lover.
Looking at faces I reckon I hate
But aren’t we all
are we all brothers?
I am counting words
in my computer.
For isn’t it easier that way,
My unfinished letters to my daughter.
Amy —
I am thinking about wars
Faraway and near
Indignation
I have nothing to fear.
Amy —
We are not helpless
Our children are fighting for our future.
(for my dear friend Amy Marley)
