Elizabeth Squared

Posted by: Jason Leclerc | on August 31, 2013

Because the act of conception erupts unplanned,

Lasting but minutes:
Joy, joy, joy, Bliss.

Sometimes enwrapped in loyal love and commitment,

Really, not always:
Often much less.

Yet, some zygotes spark forth, wanton or unwanted,

Attaching to walls:
Life quickened, or

Cut short in-utero for reasons unnumbered:

Unborn, aborted,
Birth unfulfilled.

Potential clawed from its perch, innocence shredded:

De-gifted spirit,
Born to heaven.

Some blessed, carried to term with affection: released
With conflicted pain
To others’ arms.

Barren womb and fertile womb unite in oneness,

In communal love,
Communed in woe.

New bosom entreating life, gifted: mother, child
Reclaiming lost hope,
Circle rounded.

The first, de-progeny’d, baptized in tepid grief,

The next, touched by God,
Gives all but birth.

Sacrifice and gain commingle in the prophet
Whose gratitude
Bi-directions:

To the mother who carried and delivered him

            And gave of her womb
Toward destiny.

To the mother who claimed him as hers and loved him,
            And gave of her heart
                        Unrestrictedly,

            And gives of her heart
                        To the world:
                                    Her love:
                                                Her son:
                        Unrestrictedly.

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WordsThe book, ancient by his standards, wiggled its way into his clumsy hands from the bottom of a precarious pile in the back of the dusty shop.

Rocking ChairThey first met when she was sixteen. He had just enlisted in the Navy—thirteen days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She was dating his younger brother and, when her deep turquoise eyes first met his, all he could think was how sorry he was for him. He was going to take his girl: not exactly the best Christmas gift he could offer. It was, however, the last selfish thing he ever did in his life.

FlagThere was no equivocation. He had to get to school. Coming from a thrilling VFW ceremony, he was nearly ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. He held a brand new American flag in his pudgy hands.

Crochet“What are those for?” “That’s bait.” “Ohhhh.” My wonderment was unambiguous

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FootballAfter criss-crossing the road four times and hitting every convenience store within a mile, we finally found rolling papers.

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ArbitrageArising from a mist of afternoon coitus, he rolled out of the bed and acknowledged that she did not. Neither of them was naked from the waist up. Neither of them was clothed from the waist down.

SaleI was a deal-seeking warrior, searching always for treasure on muggy Friday mornings in neighborhoods near and far.

FlightOutside of the usual bar or nightclub, it’s not every day that I get a drink bought for me—at least not by strangers and cer- tainly not on a workday.

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BriarpatchCall me Doctor.

JASON LECLERC

Author

Elizabeth Squared