Beyond smoking scrub, a red flag rises on a rifle. I hear O’Malley curse the almighty as we all deflate: exhausted, hungry, lice-infested, frozen. Stillness shrouds our brooding group. More hours on this mountain means no one eats through zero-dark-hundred. I try to imagine what a hot shower feels like. I try to remember the color of your eyes after we kiss. They always seem bluer, brighter, like that day we huddled under my Ike jacket sharing salt water taffy. The rain blew over Wildwood. You delighted in the rumbling sea. The candy was stuck between the gap in my front teeth.
*red flag signaling a missed target
Janet M. Greenstreet is a writer and photographer living and working in the Philadelphia area. Her work has been published in Frogpond journal, bottle rockets press, Red Flag Poetry, Philly Beer Scene magazine, and on billboards in the Pennsylvania countryside.