Snow Hare

Ears of drizzle and juniper
Snow sings you asleep above the moor.

Tongue of gorse and bilberry
Snow flecks you white behind the hill.

Nose of sedge and smoke
Snow is on your scent beside the loch.

Eyes of rowan and rain
Snow finds you blinking by the stream.

Feet of heather and storm
Snow sends you dancing over stone.

Coat of clouds and willow
Snow helps you hide in a hollow.

Hare of stars and frost
Snow makes you turn into a ghost.

Charles Bennett

Official Peace Corps Invite

I'm going to Swaziland! My official title is Community Health HIV/AIDS Educator. I'm going to Swaziland!!! I leave June 23 for pre-staging in either Philly or DC. Then it's off to Swazi for training on June 26. I can't believe this is all falling into place. A year ago i was trying to find some meaning in my life, trying to find something meaningful to do with my skills. And now fruition! It's a very satisfying feeling to know i'm doing something to benefit someone else.

New Jersey...New York City, baby here I come!

Leaving tomorrow morning. 6am. Newark International Airport via Omaha. Waiting for a breathe of fresh air. I will exhale upon arrival. Really exhale. Then breath deeply, in. Exhale slowly out. Again. Deep breathe in. Slow, stead exhale out. And smile. Gleam, more like it.

50 degree weather all weekend. Light jacket, scarf; hat and gloves optional. Breathing in the salty air. Breathing in the crisp dew. Breathing in. Exhale nothing. Breathing in the city flurry. Breathing in the cultural. Breathing in the ambience. Breathing in. Exhale nothing.

New Jersey. New York City. I am ready. Guggenheim. The Whitney. MoMA. Greenwich Village. Time Square. I am ready. Breathing in! Exhale nothing. Breathing in! Exhale nothing. Breathing in! Exhale nothing. Breathing in. Exhale nothing. Breathe

Vinculum

for Richard
Do not look at me again like that: between us
is too stripped down to the bare wire of what we were.

The look, umbilical—that cord I thought discarded
in some hospital bin fifty years ago come November.

How strange to find it once more between us,
still beating and so palpable we could

cross over and enter into each other
again, seeing our old selves through new, first eyes.

Plucked from a drumroll of autumns, that one
was ours—autumn of my twenty-third year, autumn

of your final fattening, taking up all the room,
worrying the thinning walls. The rope that seethed

from me to you and back again—our two-
way street—and you, little fish, hanging on

past your lease in a time of narrowing dark,
which you can't possibly remember, but do.

And it comes to me: that look must be what love is,
which is why we'll not speak of it nor hunt it down

in each other's eyes again, for you're too worldly
to admit, without wincing, what happened happened.

And I, too conscious of my failed attempts
to fire into language what's beyond words, could not

bear it. Which leaves me holding the bag once more
of foolish thoughts. I know, I know, the universe

has neither edge nor center nor crown, but I want
to think that past Andromeda and out beyond

a million swirling disks of unnamed stars, that cord
we knew, that ghost of an eye-beam floating between us,

arcs in space, lit up like the George Washington Bridge
pulsing with traffic, even after both stanchions are gone.

~Alice Friman

A Peace Corps Update

I emailed my placement team after a week of feeling particularly impatient. I received this response today. Woo Hoo! I may know sooner than I think!

Hi Jennifer,

Thanks for your message. We have reviewed your application and are just waiting for the invitation season for your program to open. That will be on November 14th, so you should be hearing from us shortly after that date. You will receive notification from your ‘My Toolkit’ account once an action has been taken. Thanks again and we look forward to working with you!

Sincerely,
Stephanie Sears
Student Aide, Africa Placement Team

No patience

I belong to a Facebook group called Peace Corps: I'm being sent to Africa. Usually I enjoy seeing where people are being placed and when they are leaving. Today I read about 2 people who are going to West Africa in July 08. I'm leaving in May 08 and all I know is Africa. That's a pretty damn big continent to consider. There are alot of possibilities! Which country will be mine to explore? And i'm trying, really trying to stay patient. But I broke down today, emailing my Africa Placement Team lady. I'm pathetic, yes I am! It's all I can do to remain in my skin. Patience is my biggest struggle. I have none. I am in awe of people who seem to have it in abundance. Where to they get it? Is it sold at Wal-Mart? I bet it is, and they are taunting me with it b/c I don't shop there. Damn you, cursed Wal-Mart! I will not frequent your overly-bright aisles in search of patience, which I'm sure you charge a pretty penny for!

Winter is fast approaching this mad town. Once winter hits here, I get cagey. I hope I have a country soon!

Comfort

Father Ray Byrne quickly became
a star. He played sports, danced,
sang, told jokes. He was a man
of the people, and we loved him for that.
He came to our apartments
and brought us comfort.

He even came to a high school graduation
party one night. I was a little drunk.
Father Byrne came up to me and asked
"Are you thinking about it?" I panicked.
What did he mean? Sex? Booze? Basketball?
Could he read my mind? Then I realized
his tone wasn't accusatory, so I said,
"Yeah, I'm thinking about it," not having
any idea what he was talking about.

"That's great," he said, "I can always
tell when a young man is thinking
about it. Just let me know if I can be of any help."
Now I was positive he wasn't talking about
sex or money or any of the things I actually
did have on my mind. Father Byrne thought
I might have a vocation.

But I wasn't considering the priesthood.
I didn't even think professional basketball
was a possibility any more. God had walked
out the door about a year before,
when I was sixteen, and never looked back,
even though I begged him not
to leave me, alone and weeping
in this valley of tears.

Terence Winch