I found the hairbrush
that my son had left behind
when he left home that last time,
and we never saw him again.
And in that brush was a bit of his hair,
and there with it, a bit of my heart.
I held it to my face for a moment,
and breaking down,
I returned it to the drawer.
james lee jobe
A murder of crows spend an hour
Occupying the mulberry tree.
It is a perfect day;
Blue sky, not hot, not cold.
Breeze, not wind.
The crows are loud, but who knows why?
An hour passes and they move on.
Why did they come?
Why did they leave?
The rest of the day is quiet.
As I write this, September 2017,
My country has been at war for sixteen years,
Pointlessly.
james lee jobe