I had seen this before, in Iraq.
Part of our mission was to directly fight insurgents; the other part was to stabilize and protect communities that were being terrorized by small groups of radicalized insurgents.
“Did you ever?” I said. “Ever what?” he said. “Ask your question.” “I don’t know…wish things had gone different somehow? Ever feel like you missed a chance?”
Al was my new-found brother, filling the sibling gap of an only child. We matched each other in height, though I was always the skinny kid and Al was more round, of face and body, and that never changed.
We rode four across the back seat me in the middle without a seatbelt. I was shy and the others’ buckles dug into me.
It’s wonderful we can be creative, be loose with the truth and not worry about accusations.
"if you were to split us open now, all you’d find was emptiness."
I was free. Free to stand on my own feet, rise from dirty baptism – a disbeliever no longer.
our eyes have crusted like pressed apricots the mountains drip over our footsteps
by Molly Mellinger An Author Interview by Molly Mellinger I’m having trouble getting into the Zoom meeting with the poet Elya Braden, although I’m supposed to be the millennial here. I apologize and Elya says, brightly, “Oh! I’ll fix it,” and she does. She tells me that she also teaches a Zoom workshop, as well … Continue reading Chai and the Fog of Creativity: Elya Braden Discusses her New Chapbook “Open the Fist”