I went outside after my husband told me the news,

About a country I didn’t know, about a deployment,

About how he was going to leave and not come back,

Not for fifteen months.

I went outside into our backyard, and stood there,

My back to the house, my chest towards the trees,

Trees that were climbing, climbing up into the sky,

My evergreen towers, and I thought to myself, how

This was almost ours, the big, new house, the trees,

The sky peaking behind them, like a mountain range,

And the lawn, our lives written here, written in grass,

Revised each week by the march of a lawnmower, and

It felt like everything we had built together, this family,

A house, that future, was being cut down, like the blades,

Those blades of fallen grass, caught under the lawnmower,

Caught under the gas machine and cut short and shooting,

Shooting out of the side discharge, shooting with speed,

And force, and strewn like that, strewn all over, all over.

And I am thinking about it, about my fallen grass strewn

Like bodies, like the bodies of war, the men who die, and

The women who wait, all of it strewn across my back yard.

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