Eagle, Globe, and Anchor

I never asked for this.

You see I opened my hand

To catch a few soothing raindrops

But instead I caught a falling star.

And it burned its way into my palm

Leaving a scar that only we can see.


You stood there,

Helplessly watching the light,

Seeing what hot gas can do

To my all too vulnerable human skin.


And a year later, I’m still broken.

No scar is ever fully healed.

The nerves are twitching

Like a spider’s broken legs

After it is crushed on the sidewalk:


Sometimes they work.

Sometimes I wonder if they exist.

Sometimes they make me want to die.


I thought I could see you

Standing there in front of me.


But when you reached for my scorched hand,

I couldn’t feel your touch.

Because it wasn’t you standing there.


It was an eagle, globe and anchor pin

The size of a man

But as cold and hard

As the steel from which it was spawned.

And your eyes

Vanished behind the world’s harsh war cries.

Your feet soon followed

Walking on foreign soil.


And your hands tried to grasp the bronze eagle

And carry it to safety

As if it were a hatchling dove.



But it caught you in its talons

And carried you away.


And that anchor weighed you down,

Keeping you half a world away


From me


Tears leak from my palms

As the nerves come to life

And show me

Once again


Just how much I needed you.



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