by Michael Seese
Janet is somewhere "in the desert," no doubt on a secret agent mission. To commemorate being pried out of NYC (her term) she conjured up the following 5 words for us:
pry
jet
blue
desert
gnaw
My first thought was the line about the blue sky. The rest of "Blue" quickly fell into place.
Blue.
The color we painted her room, because pink was for “other girls.”
Blue.
The color of the toy laser rifle even G.I. Joe couldn't pry from her hands.
Blue.
The color of the homecoming dress slipped over her football uniform seconds before they announced her name.
Blue.
The color of a perfect sky, marred only by that damned jet’s contrail.
Blue.
The color of sorrow, subtly gnawing at the edges of the brave words mailed from some desert hellhole.
Blue.
The color of the bittersweet triangle of cloth they handed me as Taps drove home the grief.
That's a three-hanky story, if you ask me. As always, I'd love the hear your thoughts.
I like it. Good luck.
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