TOILET PAPER
Arrested in the course
Of their daily lives
Imagine
My dad’s not a
criminal
How can we fight the
madness
If they catch them
They’ll be deported
What’s a wish list
Why suitcases are
important
Jim Bodeen
Día de los Muertos,
2026
TOILET PAPER
BETTER THAN A PRESIDENTIAL PARDON
BETTER THAN A PRESIDENTIAL PARDON
I have pardoned according to thy
word.
–Numbers 14: 20
Her credentials containing silence and word
Breaking open the unimagined
at the grocery store
walking the aisles
Indifferent as her cart
Pardon she says pardon
My friend the poet
The despised the rejected the strong and the swells
Jim Bodeen
12 October 2026
For Keely Murphy Pickerel
Storypath/Cuentocamino: : THANK YOU NOTE TO UKRAINE
Storypath/Cuentocamino: : THANK YOU NOTE TO UKRAINE: A THANK YOU NOTE * Between narrative and closure Between the death of night and the beginning of day Between the Steppe and the Prairie ...
PAYING ATTENTION TO HATS AT THE HOMELESS SHELTER
PAYING ATTENTION TO HATS AT THE HOMELESS SHELTER
Last night at Camp Hope the Lutherans
Wore new aprons with the black cross, white rose, red heart.
Brought Calico Beans, Cole Slaw, and brownies
From family kitchens. Bottles of water
And enough for seconds. Martin Luther
Made this cross and rose himself—1520.
Good hats, what I look for.
I found the Vietnam vet baseball cap
coming through the line worn by a vet
In a wheel chair. No signs of war having distanced
Him from mobility. I ask first, where and when.
68 the first time. 69 and 70 the second time.
Came home— got out for a while and went
Right back in, re-enlisted. I ask where again
And he says below Cam Ranh and then the DMZ
At Cu Chi. Who with. 25th. Infantry, I say Yeah.
And MOS? Mortars. I was at the 85th Evac Hospital. Tet,
I said. He said, The second time up North. Yes,
I say. Cu Chi. After the bombing. He nods.
We evac’d boku from Cu Chi—not stopping.
Morale was gone by that time, right? Long gone.
That hat. Thanks for wearing it. Thanks for your time.
Welcome to Camp Hope. Thank you too he says,
And welcome home. I know the cooks
Who cooked those beans, I say. Seconds on the slaw?
Jim Bodeen
13 October 2026
THANK YOU NOTE TO UKRAINE
A
THANK YOU NOTE *
Between
narrative and closure
Between
the death of night and the beginning of day
Between
the Steppe and the Prairie
The
grandfather and the boy
Why are those crosses there, Grandfather?
Between
the old story and the new story
I
come from the country place to the city street—
Rural,
a country boy.
We
didn’t have shirts like the one I’m wearing—
Rich
red thread, hand-embroidered,
High-neck,
tie strings with tassels,
This
deep rich Ukrainian top soil gift
for
the body on the street—
My
clothes came from catalogs in Chicago.
We
had to leave when I was ten.
Seattle.
A city. Like Kiev.
I
wore those catalog clothes
Into
the new school.
City
kids had never seen anything like them—
Or me, either.
My
dad ran the grain elevator.
I
knew the slippery shimmer of flax,
And
how to chew wheat into gum.
I
walked railroad tracks
And
searched out Indian graves,
Smoking
tobacco-weed rolled in newspaper
Looking
for smoke signals in Midwestern skies.
I
am rural like Egorushka in Chekhov’s story.
I
am a grandfather on the street carrying a sign
With
other grandparents carrying signs and we all look
More
or less alike, like we are all remembering
Someone
like Egorushka, the boy.
We
are all grandfathers asking the same question
About
the crosses. The same question.
Egorushka’s
the one riding on the hay truck.
They’re
taking him to Kiev, to school.
There
he will live with relatives and study.
I
know hay trucks and threshing crews.
I know accordion music.
I know war and something of peace.
This is the story that gives me access to others.
This is the sign on my face I carry into traffic
Wearing this beautiful shirt with red thread and
tassels,
A gift from Ukraine
Jim Bodeen
3 October—12 October 2026
· The embroidered shirt is called Vyshyvanka. This poem is for O.S. & K.S.
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