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memory<br />
Monuments filled<br />
with eyes and voices<br />
of soldiers' mothers<br />
pain and revenge<br />
of brothers,<br />
Worship a gun —<br />
I cannot, nor khaki...<br />
black boots beat<br />
in combat's cattlefield —<br />
But there is (here a silence)<br />
which no longer questions<br />
yet lingers stronger than death or<br />
blood in the battlefield,<br />
and oh lord in my heart<br />
never ends the dirge which began<br />
long before was raised<br />
stone, earth, and hell<br />
to say still, we kill.<br />
N. Navetsky<br />
University of Michigan<br />
a questioning world<br />
Sometimes the world is like a serious vacuum<br />
cleaner that sucks all of its decided<br />
waste products into a system.<br />
Other times, life is decided by few<br />
for the prospects of many<br />
Other times, a smile can replace an idea,<br />
and be prayed to<br />
When there is love, a warm and embracing fire,<br />
the chances for its death are as<br />
high as the mountains it bums from<br />
Everyone's smile and everyone's word<br />
weigh heavy in a vat of loneliness<br />
When a woman is by herself,<br />
and the words of others blow<br />
in like slicing winds to her<br />
room, all she wants<br />
is a warm beer, and<br />
distant voices, and a<br />
sort of reunion<br />
with her lonesome ideas.<br />
But lonesome ideas<br />
like crying coyotes<br />
are like deserted ditches<br />
found in the pit of question:<br />
When is there a rock with moss that<br />
I can grab and lie on, in<br />
the sun where the prospects of<br />
dehydration won't outweigh<br />
my bum?<br />
Eleanor S. Levine<br />
Rutgers University<br />
43
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