Greetings, Father

Small, this island?
Indeed it is, as small as your heart,
or at least, your love for me.
But then, following Livia, what else
should I expect from you?
Poisoned, I shouldn't wonder.

Small, and black, from Vulcan's
cinder dust and forge grim.
And hot as Hades, which was
your intention, no doubt.

I must thank you. My debt of gratitude
is more than I shall ever be able to repay.
Clean air, healthy sun, all dung and diseases
dried to dust in moments, jeweled water,
and the pick of Praetorians.

You thought to make me miserable here?
Father, you don't send men to a duty like
Pandateria and then expect abstinence
as well...

I think I must be a better judge
of troops than you—at least I shall be,
before long.

I close now, dear Father, with one request.
Send me parchment, or at least, some papyrus,
for the wind is kicking up again and the waves
are washing away my wor...

Yvette Viets Flaten, Eau Claire, credits her parents with instilling a love of reading and a curiosity to seek out answers. A life member of the WFOP, she is active in her local arts community and her award-winning poetry has been published widely.