talking-to I barely hear until he gets to that

last line—I’d better straighten out my

mind? No thank you, Mister Sir Secretary

Reverend General Your Honor, I think

but do not say. I like the way my mind meanders

like the creek that flows into the northern tip

of Reuben Lake, out the southwest side

into the Little Betsy River, and on and on

from there to who knows where, until

eventually it joins the wild sea.

Our Lives and Our Fortunes / Muriel

Our Lives and Our Fortunes

Muriel

We’ve all heard what is coming: we know

the president will take us right into the middle

of this war they’re fighting overseas, yet I can’t help

hoping against hope that someone, somehow

might find a way to keep us out of it.

Our neighbors, Emma Norman and her parents,

step carefully across Crabapple Creek on their way

to our house to listen to the president address the nation.

Mr. Norman brings his usual peppermints for Grace,

and she, as always, passes them around until there’s only one

left in the bag, then gives the bag to Mrs. Norman—

Take this home, she says, and save it

for when Frank comes back. She’s done that

at least once a week for the past six months,

since Frank left for basic training. I have no idea

if Mrs. Norman actually saves them, but the thought is so

big-hearted for a seven-year-old child, maybe Frank

can taste some kind of sweetness; even all those

miles away in Kansas, he must know that here

in Michigan we’re missing him. And never more so

than this evening, as we gather close around

the radio and hear the president proclaim: The world

must be made safe for democracy … To such a task

we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes,

everything that we are and everything

that we have. He needs an army of 500,000 men;

he invokes the principle of universal liability

to service. Ollie stands up, puffs out his chest,

and glances across the room at Emma.

Tell me, Mr. President, is my brother

“everything that we are” or is he “everything

that we have”? I only know I’m grateful

he is just sixteen, not old enough

to offer up his everything into your hands.

Apple Trees / Emma

Apple Trees

Emma

I remember last September, before

Frank left for basic training, he and Ollie

waiting in the apple trees—Ollie on their side

of the creek, and Frank on ours—watching for Muriel

and me to cross Crabapple Creek. Halfway across, where

an eddy spins between two stones, I looked up just in time

to see Ollie throw an apple down at me. I caught it, threw it

back, and to everyone’s immense surprise, I somehow hit

Ollie in the arm, which made him lose his balance. I’m

still not sure how he got from tree to water, but there