"Dear Mr. Chairman of Ethics, Leadership, and Personnel
Policy in the US Army's Office of the Deputy
Chief of Staff for Personnel."
"First, let me explain.
My mother forbade me to walk fence rails with the Milesky
boy.
She barred me from taking off my shirt to dig flowerbeds
with the Holloway girl.
I kicked an overturned coffee can
in the middle of the cul-de-sac.
Storm after storm blew past our screen door,
standing under the plum tree's pale pink blossoms
was putting on a veil.
In the hard soil of childhood, God
was everywhere in pitted sycamores,
a vibrating clothesline, and fireflies
hung still as lanterns from a Japanese maple.
One day, I carved a whole landscape in the windowsill--
sun, willow, car, lady.
Perhaps there were rabbits.
My mother grabbed my wrist.
Rains broke.
Live wires writhe like eels through our streets.
How much loneliness must we inherit?
So sir, I grew earthbound and cursed,
a quarry, a construction site.
God lagged behind in the pale light of swimming pools
and pines.
I took lovers and planes.
In the desert east of Palm Springs,
I drove past windmills flapping like angels
trying to redirect traffic.
And yes, sir, that was me kneeling down
to take a birth control pill by baggage claim area three.
Of course, sir, I can see it clearly now.
Where once there was a thicket, I
recognize three trees, a complicated song,
a cardinal's call, a mother's voice, a wedding march.
I want to undo it.
Wind brings one bush to thrash and panic
while another remains as still as porcelain.
Promiscuity, like a season, has its limits.
Inevitably, rain weaves a sort of loose net on the window
screen.
Any woman of a certain age will recognize it as cheap lace."