The Bear that Stands
April 2011. I’m in my kitchen, standing at the edge of my Malaysian-made farm table. My Brother sewing machine, a Mother’s Day gift from an ex-husband, teeters on the edge while brocades, satins, and chiffons slide from the edge of my fine, flat table and onto a floor spattered with muddy dog prints. Everything has been pushed aside except for my open weapons bag and a couple boxes of shells. Once a Marine, always a Marine.