talking
about, The perfume of plumeria,
fighting the scent of sweat
in the air, or how, The oceanâs
singing reminds me of our last
night together. Remember?
How could I possibly forget?
And that made me even
hungrier to see him or touch
him or taste him. His voice was not
nearly enough, so Iâd go get his shirt
and bury my face in it until time was up
and he had to tell me, Good-bye. Love
you. And, Iâm in need of some serious
Ash time. Before long, our mantra.
ALL SIGNS POINTED
To Spencer being assigned a local
PDS. He had requested Pendleton,
which is home to several helicopter
squadrons. With that likely, he put
in for on-base housing, knowing
it would take a while for approval.
Meanwhile, his housing allowance
would pay for the off-base apartment
he could come home to after completing
training. With SDSU out for summer
break, I packed up my stuff, left Darian
in San Diego, and went home.
Despite my growing feelings for Cole,
I hadnât mentioned him to my parents.
I had a pretty good idea of how they
would react, especially Mom. The only
thing that surprised me was how calm
she remained when we sat down to dinner
my first night back and the conversation
almost immediately went to if and who
I was dating. At that point, lying seemed
ridiculous, so I admitted, âActually, I am
seeing someone. And itâs kind of serious.â
All silverware action came to a halt.
Why didnât you mention it? asked
Dad. Is he, like, twice your age?
I smiled. âWell, he is an older man.
Twenty-one, in fact. And heâs kind
and smart, and really good looking . . .â
It was then or never; at least
thatâs how it felt, so I went ahead
and added, âAnd heâs in the Corps.â
Momâs jaw went rigid. Surely you
donât mean the Marine Corps? When
I looked away, she knew. Yet she kept
her voice low. Are you actively seeking
heartbreak? Have you heard thereâs a war
going on? I canât believe youâre that stupid.
That smarted, but I didnât want to
argue, or even defend myself.
âLove is stupid sometimes, I guess.
Look, Mom, I didnât go looking to fall
for a soldier. Yes, I know thereâs a war.
Coleâs heading that way very soon.â
Stating it so matter-of-factly sucked
all bravado out of me. My shoulders
slumped and my eyes stung. âAnd
Iâd really a-a . . .â A huge wad of
emotion crept up my throat. I choked
it back. âAppreciate your support.â
Mom shook her head, dropped
her eyes toward her plate. It was
Dad who said, Ashley, girl, I think
this is a huge lapse of judgment.
But I can see youâre upset. Weâll
talk about it after dinner, okay?
But our appetites were crushed
beneath a relentless blitz of silence.
THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE
The plain is still,
emptied
of even the thinnest
soundsâthe murmur
of creeping sand;
pillowed spin of tumbleweed;
susurrus of feathers trapped
in thermal lift.
The well is dry,
drained
to weary echo
above desiccated silt.
Thirst swells, bloats
every cell until
the body arcs
beneath its weight.
The page is blank,
scrubbed of
metaphor, flawless
turn of phrase. Parched
within the silence, hungered
in a desert without
words,
I am stranded
in your absence.
Cole Gleason
Present
THE TIMING
For this trip couldnât be a whole
lot worse. The semester has barely
started, and Iâm just settling into
my classes. Iâll only miss a few days,
though. Hopefully my professors
will be understanding. Iâm not so
sure about Mr. Clinger, who wears
austerity proudly. I wonder if he writes
poetry, too, or if he only analyzes it.
You canât teach poetry without truly
loving it, can you? Guess weâll see. Class
is over for the day, the room deserted
except for Mr. Clinger and me.
âExcuse me.â I muster my prettiest
smile, but when he looks up, he