Author / J.L. Smith

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Posts by J.L. Smith

I am a writer/political scientist based in Eagle River, Alaska. I hold a BA degree in English/Creative Writing and a MA in International Relations. Best of both worlds, I write everything from naturalistic poetry to Russia and the former Soviet Republics. Recent publications: Academic Nonfiction: The Syrian Dilemma: Moscow's Motives in the Syrian Uprising (2013). ISBN: 9781304283931 Creative Nonfiction: "The Important Things" - Alaska Women Speak - Winter 2015 issue Fiction: How to Eat a Bagel - 50-word Stories - Sept 15, 2015 The Devil and the White Room - Down in the Dirt - July/August 2016 Poetry: "Sara" - Grassroots - Fall 1999 "Femininity" - Cirque - Summer 2015 "Sitting in the Bathroom" - Yellow Chair Review - July 2015 "A Happy Poem" - Eunoia Review - August 2015 "Willow Rebuilds" "Spectators" "Fire Angels" - Alaska Women Speak- Fall 2015 "Dark Clouds Descend Low" - Three Line Poetry - Issue 33 - Sept 2015 "Da!" - Peeking Cat Poetry - 8th issue - Oct 2015 "Three times my baby's stroller passes by" - Eunoia Review - Oct 2015 "Babushka's Samovar", "If I May Speak", and "High Tea and Fancy Things" - Alaska Women Speak - Winter 2015 Issue "Joanna's Child" - Cirque - Winter Solstice issue 2015. "Away with the Bitterness!" - Peeking Cat Poetry - 9th Issue - Dec 2015 "Away with the Bitterness!" - Alaska Shorts (49 Writers blog) - December 22, 2015 "The Reflex", "The Drop Off", and "Crossed Eyes" - Eskimo Pie - Feb 2016 "The Fragments You Carry", "The Fireweed Dies", and "Crabapples" - 13 Chairs - Spring 2016
by J.L. Smith

Throwback Thursday: The Fragments You Carry

This poem was published in 13chairs’ first issue. Enjoy!

 

The Fragments You Carry

One box always carried

is a cardboard Ziploc container.

It could be the quart size,

the gallon size,

or even the sandwich size.

The contents,

the plastic sealable bags,

are not the important things.

 

With each military ordered move—

seven in fifteen years between

five states and one foreign country—

it is among the last boxes

removed from the house or apartment

that was your base,

where you celebrated Christmas,

away from your family,

for two or three years.

 

The bags are mostly gone.

They were used to secure the toiletries,

the mint toothpaste,

the lavender scented deodorant,

the red and green toothbrushes,

and the overpriced pumpkin spice body lotion

you wouldn’t dare throw away,

even if it is only one-third full,

 

in the suitcase that sits by itself

by the door with the cleaning supplies and oils

the movers would not take,

the glass cleaner you used yesterday,

the full bottle of rubbing alcohol,

and the half used olive oil

you will need to discard

in the overfilled trash can at the curb,

after you close the door one final time.

 

The cardboard box remains to pick up

the rest of your things:

the permanent markers,

the bottle of Tylenol,

the loose change,

the card from a friend wishing you a safe journey,

the receipt from your favorite pho restaurant

and the cheap vodka you had last night.

 

The final physical fragments of your former home

that will be emptied and thrown away

first at your next destination.