The bus crackles with candy wrappers and children's voices. You talk about wars and Iraq. You are so weary of it. Me too. You want our troops home. Me too.
Your opinions blow through the bus daring anyone to disagree. Views like a cashmere wrap snuggle you, so warm and effortless.
I think of saying, "oh, your husband is in Iraq too?" but my heart is heavy today and my voice snuggles into a deep silence.
You preach politics without the personal. Blissfully unaware of my heart. You don't see my son cry at night. You don't set one less place. No packing and moving. "it's hard to be an American" you say. Me too.
You are cozy and without sacrifice. You are not a soldier's wife.
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