16 Seconds
Laura Jean Thomas
 
(In the movie Rules of Engagement, the main character says that a second lieutenant had the life expectancy of 16 seconds during combat in Vietnam)
 
Coming from West Point, they were expected to know everything
Possible to keep their platoon and themselves alive. But, how could they? How were they supposed to know what it’s like to be wet, cold, hungry,
After not sleeping for four days straight while some flat-faced schmuck pops shots
At their heads? How was he to know that woman graced in the beauty of
The night, crying for help, would not only commit suicide, but murder
Two of his soldiers from third squad? The world was falling around them
And yet, he heard a story twelve days ago about Jane Fonda–
How she could betray America’s sons and daughters astounds him.
He decides his soldiers must never hear of her betrayal. But,
It makes him wonder if the rest of America is turning
Her back on them as well as they sit in swampish jungles tending
Their friends who just lost an arm…a leg….a head. They must leave quickly!
The enemy is closing on their position. Rat-a-tat-tat
It’s getting louder!! The earth shakes as holes are created to
The sound "BOOM!" He feels a sharp pinprick…and the world goes black–silent.
 
ODE TO WOODYVILLE
Harry Lindenmuth

In Woodyville all is quiet until precisely four–
At which time the Titans of the Diamond take center stage.
In 20 years not one losing season have we endured,
and furthermore,
I pray we never will.
 
I can remember stealing base after base in my fabled prime.
In the back of my mind I can almost taste the gravel,
though nowadays games sometimes start around 4:30 or 5,
and 20 years did not become 21 like everyone had prayed.
 
Still somehow in my mind it is now up to 30,
and will probably be 31 by season’s end–
Because each night I return with my uniform dirty,
and my mouth full of gravel again.
 
Constantly I wander back to this place of dreams and hopes and youth,
Until sadly my alarm clock ushers in reality and another game concludes.
 
 
My Nephew
Harry Lindenmuth
 
I didn’t think much
of him 4 years ago.
He was so small and smelly.
But now not a day goes by
when I don’t look at his picture
and smile.
 
The top of his head just
About reaches my groin–which
can sometimes make his stampeding
hugs a bit uncomfortable.
But I don’t mind.
 
Four years later I think much
of him. He is not so small and
far less smelly. Though–
I do look forward to the day
that his head reaches
My belly.
 
Forgive Me
Maijaliisa A. Rimstad
 
Forgive me father
For I have sinned
I know not what I do
 
Please have pity
On my blackened soul
As I confess my sins to you
 
Hail Mary full of Grace
Our Father who art in heaven
Hallowed and blessed names!
 
Repeat this now twenty times
For all of the naughty little games.
 
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord
May take my sins away
 
But never will I forget
The crimes I have done
And most likely will commit more
 
But for now I am clean
And pure as peace
A fresh new dandelion flower.
 
In the name of the Father,
The Son, and the Holy Spirit….
(For now at least)….Amen.

Harvest
Maijaliisa A. Rimstad
 
In the rich soil
Of my garden
I work to harvest
My luscious,
Cool, silky
Tomatoes
 
Sometimes I go barefoot
When I feed my tomatoes,
Letting the warm dirt
Invade the cracks between
My toes,
Tickling
The small nerves
You sometimes forget
Are there
 
And I sweat and toil
Throughout the
Late spring,
Entire summer,
And early fall
 
So that in the end
I can pick the
Juicy fruit
From the thick,
Tangled vine
And press its
Satiny rich skin
With my thumb
And squeeze it
In all of its ripeness
Until it bursts, and the seeds
Spill out into my hand.
 
And it feels so good
To get just a little
Dirt beneath
My fingernails.
 
Kamakura
Maijaliisa A. Rimstad
 
Like a fetus
I search the inner recesses,
Touching and feeling
The intimate walls
Of the foundation and structure
That has given life
For more than 2000 years.
 
The bronze sears my fingertips
Shocking my senses
With an overwhelming explanation
Of that which is inexplicable.
The magnitude and power that
Surrounds me bewilders my conscious
Sense of reality and what IS.
And I confusedly stagger
Into the blinding light.
 
And just as a prisoner, finally
Released from an eternity behind bars,
I feel a liberty swelling my lungs
And bursting my brain.
No longer inside form or spirit
The mother licks me clean
Of the sensational juices that cover me.
And like a baby bird
I chirp for knowledge,
Yearn to fly…
 
The discoloration streaks the face in tears
And magnificent thumbs press together
With force of such determination and serenity,
Asking me to stretch out in the upward palms
Resting my mind and body,
Surrendering my spirit.
 
The incense wafting through the great
Hallowed ball heightens the aura
Confusedly contrasting
The round watermelons and bottles of water
Lying at the stiffened knees
And invisible feet which have
Inspired hundreds of millions to
A fate I cannot dream of,
To a moment I can only understand,
In less than a breath.
 
 
Une Fleur
-- Maijaliisa A. Rimstad

Trying to maintain dignity
In the shapeless gown,
I open my legs to the
Little baby bird
And wonder if
Maybe my Mom had
Taught her how to play
The piano.
 
Did she used to sit on the smooth
Bench of the upright piano in our
Music room each week
While the metronome clicked
And my mom softly matched the beat
With her thin weathered hands
Patting the leg that tapped the floor?
 
When, for a treat, she played the shiny Grand
Releasing the black ivory from the tent in which it hid,
Did she run home flushed with joy?
 
Maybe her parents came and sat,
Applauding politely and taking pictures
On the folding chairs we borrowed
From the church when there was
A piano recital on dark green carpet
That normally was littered with out toys.
 
Is she the girl in the back of the picture
Taken at one of the lollipop concerts
At St. Catherine’s where all the girl wore their
Shiny patent shoes, pleated skirts, and tights?
 
Was she the older girl finishing
Her 11th level of piano exams
In the pink room
When I was ecstatic
In the green room
After completing number three?
 
Her fingers gently press against my breasts
The cool frigid hands of a doctor
Rubbing up and down
In slow careful, concentric circles,
Feeling for the music that isn’t quite right.
 
I sit quietly and wait, as I did those Saturday mornings
Holding my breath under veiled threats of a spanking
While the piano tuner carefully plucked each string
With his magical fork, restoring the sound to perfection.