Stolen Serendipity

Allow me to preface this before I begin:
I. Loathe. Cold.
Nothing against the auburn hues of leaves past their time,
but I just can not stand temperatures below sixty-five.
Except for today.
There comes a point in the transition from mid autumn to late where the world becomes silent.
No frogs.
No geese.
No cicadas.
Just pure soundlessness.
The crisp fog of my breath against my skin breaks me from my revery of utter aloneness.
At this point of the soon-to-be frozen season, I can appreciate the still quiet.
It is not the silence that smothers me,
but the absense of sound.
In which case there is no distracting me from my own thoughts.
Thoughts that remind me when I walk through the door you won't be there to warm me up.
This hush gives me security,
a peace in knowing I am not the only one chilling,
and changing.
In this very moment, and only for just a heartbeat,
can I feel your hand in mine.
And I am serene.

Nana's Eulogy

You raised me from 'homemade pisgetti sauce' and 'two oreos with one minty-mint' after dinner,
Our chances at adventure time meant traveling through the back yard looking for "snakkies and mannies".
Paddling across the brown ocean of your living room carpet on my sturdy serving-tray-turned-boat with wooden spoons for paddles,
Just so we could watch Jeopardy together.
As I became older,
house calls were less frequent,
and 'I love you's, scattered.
But no matter how far I swam,
you were always to be my lifeguard,
my lighthouse.
Running away meant packing my favorite Barbie and pajamas and running as fast as my mind could carry me,
up the path, across the street and into your safe house arms.
Birthdays meant THE cake and the Tea Hive, decked out in our fashionable wear.
But as we grow older, birthdays, running away, and paddling across carpets aren't just memories tattooed on our hearts,
They're the legacy we leave for the following generations.
Nana, so much you have taught me,
and so much more I have to learn.
Thank you.





My Nana, SaraBelle Harker Junkermann was born on August 8th, 1913 and passed on January 19th, 2014. Her legacy is carried on by my mother, brother, sister-in-law and I, and will be passed down to the following generations.

Momentary Appeasement

Once upon a time, in a land no so far away,

there lived a young maiden, 

who always managed to get herself into the worst sorts of trouble. 

You see, she was no ordinary girl. 

She had developed the body of a Goddess, with hair of gold, and eyes like the sea, 

and used her appeasing looks as leverage to get what she desired. 

She ran wild, like a whirl-wind,

romping with one man to the next.

Until her antics caught up with her. 

All her games were thrown back in her face, 

and she, like her once-unsuspecting victims, had to play.

However, the rules had changed.

And her eyes were opened. 

Now did she see the turmoil she had caused,

the families she had split, the bridges she had burned. 

The Game that was once so entertaining,  

became the cage in which she was to carry out her days. 

At every turn, she was remjnded of who she had done, 

and the consequences were repaid tenfold. 

She became meek, where she was boisterous,

invisible where she was apparent, 

and kind where she was cruel. 

After a time, she learned to live, 

and not just survive. 

But when faced with the possibility of hurting yet another man, 

she fought to keep him happy in exchange for hers.

Bearing this burden, 

she thought it her punishment,

for all the chaos she had caused. 

Yet when the man she had tried to make happy realized this,

he set her free. 

With her wings returned, 

she took to the sky, 

and has yet to come down. 

Moral of the story? 

Never give up personal happiness in exchange for the happiness of another's for fear of causing them pain. They will notice and the relationship will suffer. 

The Shores of Time

Close your eyes, and what do you see?

Hear? 

Smell? 

To each their own, as is common in today's reality. 

But what if we could see deeper, closer into another's reality? 

A place once entrenched in blood and tears and sweat has become peaceful.

Tovarisch.

Through the battles, the sun began to rise above the blood moon, 

chasing away the shadows, encompassing my eyes with light.

If only my peace could be shared. 

The demons we once fought together no longer linger behind my eyes, 

only yours.

If the scars we bear could be outgrown, pushed away from memory,

would you still be so blankly staring into oblivion?  

The shores I walk hungrily envelope my footsteps,  but avoid yours altogether.

Dorogoy,  come back to me. 

No longer do we need to battle our ways through time, 

not when safety is our present, and our future. 

Hold my hand, and let me show you,

that this love is nothing to fear.

Tovarisch: Russian for 'comrade', used mostly in the USSR

Dorogoy: Russian for 'darling' 

For Future Reference

I've been pondering these words for a long while, 
And it seems that everyday that passes by I can't help but feel jilted but this lifetime. 
When we were young we had so much to hope for, back when the world was green and filled with possibility. 
But now as I trudge on I can't help but be cynical to this whole idea of living and dreaming as the norm would see fit. 
I miss the days when laughter was free and our hearts held no grudge, 
As we have grown jovial comradely is rare and our once pure hearts grew black with despair. 
I don't wish to live in the past but how can I live in a future of which I see no good? 
It's as if the days we used to laugh and giggle away take a century to pass, 
And the very glue which held us together is now the reason we are on opposite ends. 
If only words could bring us back together.

Tovarishch Moy Dorogoy

Behind the manifold of placid masks, 
I dance between pitiable and fiendish faces of my oppressors, 
their malice towards my being eradicates my self worth to that of a maggot. 
Treated as a malignly I am help captive by the siroc of my own emotions,
and I am acquiesced for that small hope in my heart that I too may be accepted. 
My apparition is countered by with repugnance for my individual, 
The environs of my mind contain such distaste for my own shadow give me no escape from myself. 
To interchange places with a god would be a dream, 
but one that will slip between the grasp of my clammy fingers. 
To be able to pass by the days of pain, knowing there is a brighter light upon the exit of this path, 
To go back to the exordium of my own insanity, 
to feel your lips pressed upon my forehead one last time, 
or the cool of the gun below my chin- these are my dearest adjurations.
Before the undulation of being "crazy", 
when the benevolence of man wasn't entirely against me. 
Tovarishch. 
My comrade. 
You chased away my abjectly painful moods, 
back when the marooned skiff upon the shore was our ship, 
and you, her captain. 
Where disquisitions of the sea were held over the puddle in the back yard, instead of tea, 
and tears were only shed when there was blood-loss rather than words, never for cataracts of manipulation. 
Now, I've shed enough tears to fill up the ocean, and enough blood for vampires. 
Bags under eyes like bruises, 
And the eyes that were once filled with childish play are now full of solemnity and as much salt as the Dead Sea.
I will always love you,
even if its from a distance, now.
But I hope this gun shows more love and appreciation than you, 
and in heaven the angels don't cry.  
Good-bye, tovarishch, 
I hope one day you'll be able to look past these scars.