Tag Archives: death

Presumptive Ensen

Soon, I will be able to smell the salt from our own shores. Soon, I’ll be breathing in Magnificence – air so pure and far from battledust, that my lungs may collapse in relief and with honour. Relief for service without death. Honour for the men that left us too early, wearing our flag and dying for our freedoms.

The boys on the Pennsylvania were gearing up for our return. All regulation garments and bedding for our sleeping quarters were commissioned for laundry; the head, the mess, and common walks were on a strict schedule for scrubbing and every White Glove was salivating at the thought of making one of us, do some kind of compensatory dirty job in return for our poor job.

I was busy checking reports to see that the I’s were dotted, as well as commander’s signature inked on the bottom line. I often found myself whistling while I worked to clear the documents from ole Shaggy’s desk. To say I was happy that the war was over, would be an understatement, because I was ecstatic to be returning to the wife I married, but had yet to love.

It was Sunday, and there shouldn’t have been a letter in the mailbox, but there was. It came straight from Washington, marked “Classified” and I did not know where the commander was. In the confusion of trying to find his itinerary for the day, I stumbled upon a note that I knew I shouldn’t see, but I couldn’t help But see it – the note read, PREPARE FOR COORDINATES 11°35′ N 165°23′E / 11.583°N 165.383°E / 11.583; 165.383; ARRIVE 20 AUGUST, ASSIST IN OPERATION CROSSROADS.

My heart stopped. All I could think of was Shannon. How can I tell her that I won’t be coming home? How can I tell my darling that the weapons we’ll be testing may cause my death? I wonder if she still has my grandfather’s pocket watch in the nightstand. I’d like to be buried with it.

-dld nov.18, 2010

for Icarus Flight to Perfection”s Writing Challenge

dear me

dear me,
I’m in my eighth decade
an octogenarian, is how I’m deemed to the public
and stamped with all-too noticable marks of death –
melanoma ridden age spots and a brain
not knowing how to do simple tasks.

I do dislike the fog hovering,
yet imparting clarity when it’s appropriate
when my life depends on such knowledge,
like now.
 .
this is why I write.
although frail and withered
from remedies man has made to conquer the evils dealt,
man’s homemade unnatural concoctions
have no place in my life, for
i can still climb mountains and dance a belly dance
in my mind
that hasn’t been altered,
yet the disease I was born with continues to rear the ugliness.
 .
I perservere
and for reasons only
the core inside 
knows,
I live now, to connect
that core within’s motivations
to share, so that you may learn, or at least
nod your head, so I know you understand.
 .
the wrenching of my gut, my umbilicle spirit
saved me from deceptive hands
cloaked and wiling to compress the air from my lungs
strength, forward, rejubenate, recompse, MEi knew that i had to depart from that life
to live to find the ME, that was lost, stolen, raped.
 .
my umbilicle spirit
gave strength to move forward,
rejuvenate and recompose who I am.
my umbilicle spirit
turned inside-out, to reveal all that is important
so I could dismiss all that is not.
 .
.
~dld november 10, 2010
_____________________________
dual writing challenges:
T10:  Words, Inc., Wednesday:
(1) fog, and (2) frail
The Muse Is In:  Prompt #86, Wise Elder

Dungarees, Blood and Punishment

It was all my mother’s fault.

I was thirteen and really, really wanted them!

But she said, “NO, girls don’t wear dungaree’s,

it makes you look like a boy, or a tomboy, which is worse!”

.

Mom wasn’t going to stop me from going to the Mall with my friends,

I had been on the bus before without her.

So, off I went to buy a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt’s.

.

It was all my mother’s fault.

I was thirteen and really didn’t understand the retching pain I felt.

But she said, “I was just like you, doubled-over and wishing death,

I just never thought the cramps would come back every month.”

.

Mom wasn’t kidding, but she didn’t tell me that I’d bleed until I was white

and that the months turned into years,

or that the pains would grow worse

.

It was all my mother’s fault.

I was thirteen, and getting a dog was all I wanted.

Who knew that Spot would be such a disobedient dog.

She’d yell. “If I have to tell you one more time, dogs don’t eat at the dinner table!”

.

Mom had no tolerance and I suppose I don”t either, for I found, years later

that I said those same words to my bird, of all things,

and to the subsequent pets that I’ve had since.

.

Whether it was her obsessions with control over me,

or comiserating with my monthlies, or not…

the one thing that I know for sure… I got Mom’s genes!

.

I’ll take a pair of those groovy Vanderbilt’s over that!

Thanks Mom!

.

-dld November 2, 2010

for T10 – It was all my mother’s fault.

D. M. Z.

this is for all of us women who understand all too well
… and for the men who still won’t!

D. M. Z_________________________________________

i no longer NOTICE
that line between demilitarized zones
when the mood change swings bite your head leave me alone i want
ben & jerry……
ANYTHING with chocolate
when the cramps and the lower backache
started one week prior to
and lasted until one week later,
the super-cramps would last the first two to three days;
doubled-over, heating pad-pain in my tire in training
pain in my head

cigarettes, my vice
my lover my illness my desire my death
my
hallelujah

i no longer NOTICE

that line has widened

i’m like THAT
all the time.

in a warm womb papal robe
hanging one arm at my side along my leg
head leaning down becoming arm
i can blink i can breathe
i cry
wait
for this conflict to end
_______________________________________© dld august 29, 2006

Accidental Awakening

The pain was starting to feel normal, for this moment in the Grand Scheme of Life.

No longer did the questions echo.

No shorter had I realized they had stopped,

when the truth became evident and more important than relishing the “what if’s” to death.

.

The pains, reduced their presence to a showing of complacent indiffence.

I so willfully accepted this New Order without doubts that this is what should be.

.

You can say that I gave in too quickly, too easily.

I can say that I resigned myself to accepting the cards that lay before me.

There is good reason that I am no longer fighting.

.

My surrender may seem spineless and my will may come off as spent,.

but let’s face it, the only positive to come from this accidental awakening is that

I did not die.

.

The fact that I cannot communicate to you in person, with my voice,

does not mean that I can’t try to speak through what I haven’t said,

or am able to do now that you’ve gone.

.

This is my only attempt to let “us” go and not get stranded in the system’s slurry of red tape..

I am not an orphan.

I am whole without you.

I can and will be the daughter your genes infused inside to just become.

.

I only wish you had not left it up to me to make the decision to let you go.

This accidental awakening of me

to BE….

.

without you.

.

.

.

© dld o6.15.1o
writtenfori ThinkingTen—A Writer’s Playground