War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

lazarus (31)

he drove and drove a thousand kilometres through ice and snow, mountain range, stopped only for a bowl of corn chowder. the longest drive he’d made since he’d left his sandy grave, Afghanistan, outside the wire.
a bag of pumpkin seeds, almonds, chewing gum, the radio playing dance tunes, not 9 liner 9 liner, is good company when you drive towards love after war, after shitshow, after loss, betrayal. (and oh how an axed heart is so goddamn brave when it opens up to be filled again. and oh how this warrior was brave).
at the bus depot he waited for her patiently, read her txt I must love you a lot to catch a long distant bus on New Year’s Eve! and she did. her feet rested on a picnic basket full of chocolate, a baguette, his favourite goat cheese. her feet rested on a leather overnight bag full of good things to make him smile. a beautiful dress. stockings. ribbons to tie and untie.
oh those old movie clichés. her running, running, into his arms. the kiss. bright eyes. smiles. touching shyness. being 17 again and again and again. only this time, so much better than the first time they were 17. full spectrum, all the colours. not black and white.
and what can one say of ice and snow. what can one say of sleeping with the door to the Thomson river a quarter-ways open. of lungs inhaling ease, peacefulness. to rise again. to reach for a new kind of faith. takes will. takes love. it’s out there still. it waits.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled lazarus (31). It was posted here on December 31, 2011.


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