1. There is a war going on. Over there and over here. Inside and outside. Will we ever be good, warless?
2. Where is home?
3. Safe from something. Safe from some things.
4. It’s almost growing season. As if we haven’t been growing enough lately.
5. What do you still believe? Is there anything left of the old you? Look at all of us, changed forever. Here we have modern nostalgia.
6. We still have spring and sunshine and old flowers growing new leaves – for now.
7. Be free.
8. Soon we’ll have more, and much less. Look at everything you have in this moment.
9. All of this is the same. We have never, ever changed.
10. Fist bump.
The old men in the old country
die with unannounced poison in their bones
cheeks turning red to black,
far past rosy vodka friendliness
whispered slurs of slipping away
wrapped in the same white sheets they were born on
surrounded by ancient grandmother pillars of pillows
soon to be buried next to all previous generations
under neon-colored plastic flowers
and broken china cups of rain water to eternally sip
worn out weary legs bent under hay-making shoulders
rheumy watery eyes and lotion-less skin
big belly gut heaving from the lung stress
sitting splayed on the one one person-sized mattress
thinking of his father
thinking of me
thinking of nothing
semi-encircled by the entire village family
throwing arms in the air clutching vodka swallows;
nothing much is different on this his last day.