One.
She taps her poppin-pink sandal,
one hand graced her hip
the other grips her lifesource.
This magazine captured that girl.
She was the tweeny-bopper type
with her hot pink iphone
her hot pink earphones
all to match her hot pink outfit.
Her eyes widen like saucers,
she bounces off her tip toes.
A new poster of that teen pop star,
the flimsy paper will soon hang perfectly
with her collection.
She just has to have it.

Two.
Feet aching as if he’d been walking on nails,
chest heaving, searching for air,
Heart beating, fast-
Rust colored dust pieces his eyes
weighs down his lungs,
but he carries on.
For his friends at home who send letters
of hope and underlying worry.
For his mother who faces this fear,
twice.
For him, which may just be-
a framed picture of a man in uniform.
But to him it was the reason for his life,
and his service.
He carries on.

Three.
She visits every Sunday.
Her white hair-
reminds me of pure snow and light
Her genuine smile-
fills me with giggly-gladness
Her laughter envelops-
the bitter cold house with a warmth
She makes me delicious dinner
a warm one that doesn’t need a drive-thru.
She sneaks me money for the week
so mommy doesn’t see it
and borrow it for her special medicine.
So when Mrs. Abigail asks us-
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I say I want to be Grammy.

Life is a game you can’t play alone
Our actions affect-
and guide others.
We look to others
to learn
and follow their path.
Little pieces of ourselves
scatter across the world
with others who idolize
and find inspiration
through ourselves and our decisions.