My parents divorced when I was five, and as an only child, my childhood was almost always entire days with just my mom and me. These days included movies followed by lunch or ice-cream at Rompelmeyer; birthday dinners at Benihanas or Il Boschetto; trips to Disney World, Bermuda, Trinidad, Europe, Canada; Broadway plays; ballet at Lincoln Center or City Center; rainy days, snow days or Saturdays of Monopoly, 221B Baker Street, chess, 500 rummy; Sunday church then Sunday afternoon tv movies... It was a very full childhood for which I am forever grateful. Despite being the only child of a single parent in a neighborhood where that was distinctly frowned upon, I was beyond fortunate.

I have a single memory of one whole day spent with my dad. I was fourteen. I spent the night at his apartment and we were up at 4 am to catch a boat. We had a cooler full of Colt 45 for him. I had a ham sandwich and a ginger ale in my backpack. Near the dock we bought some minnows for bait then boarded a fishing boat. We were on the water for hours. My dad made friends immediately and introduced me around with more than a little pride. This is my baby girl, Danny. Watch out for her. He fished a little, drank a lot, and spent some time playing cards below deck. I learned to put the hook through the eye of the minnow and almost won the pot by catching the biggest fish. It ended up being the second biggest. I remember how happy he was, bragging about the fish his baby girl caught. Or maybe he was just happy I was there doing something he loved with him. It was a good day. I wish we'd managed more of them before memories and pictures were all I had left of him.

My mum and I are writers and editors, so first we would have gone to a publishing house to see what it's like, then she'd take me to a cool fantasy brewery or some crazy thrill type thing like riding a motorcycle, (she's that kind of lady!) and ending the day with ice cream. She has always liked ice cream, especially mint, which is also my favorite.

Apparently we're off to a great start to the new year, 2101. Here it is, January 2, and there has yet to be a mass shooting this year. Although it means we've gone only a whole day without one, we are all hopeful.

The President ordered all flags to fly at "full mast" today. This has not been done since some time in 2022, and even that is arguable, given those who died days later following the mass shootings before that day. Life at half-mast has become the way of the banner, each bangled star just as well representing a bullet hole.

How grand that banner shall be, at full height! What symbolism! We can only wonder, Will the sun set on the flag flown this way? Would today be a good day to fund mental health fully? or send a memo to those who decide?

Enjoy today's flag as it struggles against gravity forced upon it by the trouble brewing in some people's minds and likely to reach critical by tomorrow.

If I could have maybe a shred

Lightning bugs

Light

Done by a star

Shine down

Onto me

Bring my body

To shore

And breathe in the

Salt

G l i m m e r i n g

S h i m m e r i n g

Take the sparkles from my eyes

Wash them over

Over

Me

;

Take

It

Share my

Soul

We can share

The light

Light i found in the depths of a tidal wave

Wondering why i had not found it

Until i drowned

a bracelet of threads circles my wrist

- orange, pink, and green -

that's who you are to me

declares the girl who makes me seen

without missing a beat, i proclaim

- purple, pink, and green -

that's who you are to me

not knowing only a best friend could be so keen

i try this game later, this time with another

- blue, yellow, and green -

thats who you are to me

they ask, what does that mean?

i look at the bracelet given to me

smiling, i realize

this is why she and i will always be

the best friends who see

So many wonderful words we write,

When we dream of a seed and sow it.

A novel or sonnet may come to light

If we take the time to grow it.

And many are they but plenty are we

Who would yearn to be the poet.

Lovers embrace on the moon tonight

Should our pens' pretenses show it,

And an angel's wing will want for flight

Should the villain reveal what's below it

For limitless bliss or the fury of those

Who would yearn to be the poet.

From the dawn of man at the start of time

One would pick up a verse and bestow it

Upon thirsty mind set afire by a rhyme

A fine lyricist would overflow it

And words were like wine dripping down upon those

Who would dare to be the poet,

Or might care to undergo it

Remember the past or ignore the day

Come the troubadour, minstrel, and bard

Leaving doubt behind, keeping woe at bay

And distresses, disregard

When the words of a beautiful, dutiful voice

bring a healing to the scarred.

Very few children understand

And many who do outgrow it

The Raven, Silence, Fairy-Land

And his name, you surely know it

For it was Edgar Allan's hand

Which put the Poe in poet

And as a child, remarkable he

Was a poet and didn't even acknowledge the fact.

This side of my skin only layers

It shows the story of my kin

A story that can't be shown by numbers on paper

It shows my family history, in virtue and in sin

This side of my skin is gold

Youthful and hard to hold

First soft like grains turned to flour

Then calloused in an hour

But even as my skin frays

This story on the side of my skin will stay

shes sighs at the table and signs the paper

she hugs me

and tells me it's going to be okay

"5 minutes" the lady in the suit says

tells me she loves me

and that she didnt mean it

straightens my clothing

"it'll just be a weekend or two"

an unplanned lie

the woman walks in the door

"i love you, Sweets. make sure she goes with her brother"

she says to me, then my social worker

only 2 visits afterwards

im 17 now

it's been 9 years