Lying in a big field of rye, I championed the world’s greatest fears.
My days turned bitter when you traded warmth for war.

My days turned bitter
when you believed heroes
could be made in holes,
not homes—
with a mother’s love.

I watched a parade of half-grown palm leaves unfold gently for emerald saints…




Boys in big shoes.
Men in brown boots.

Who don’t know the cost of war.

I saw an angel and hid my head.
When I realized what I had done, I ran like a missile towards its sweet sting.

They learned how to walk and sang songs out of tune.



Now, they chant all together in perfect unison.

It’s okay to come back.
to chant quietly,
imperfectly,
straining, crawling
into your mother’s love.

I asked a green angel for an explanation. I didn’t understand. He looked down, beaming with medals and ribbons and stars
and said
“forgive us’.

Toy Soldiers

by Josie Segura

Privates in march

letting last trains to life

whistle weakly

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.