Doorless

Doorless

Some say:

“one door closes, another one opens”.

But imagine a world with no doors.

A world that is open:

Expansive.

People coming and going as they please:

No shame.

One room in a house connected to the other,

Simply through an open space.

A world with no doors would have no secrets either.

We wouldn’t have anywhere to hide them;

Nothing to lock the secrets behind.

Mothers and fathers would stay together forever.

With no doors, they couldn’t hide from each other.

They would talk in the same room

And love forever.

The children would be happy too.

They could simply walk through the open space,

And be outside.

In fact,

in a world with no doors,

Everything would be outside.

Imagine:

No doors

No shame

No secrets

Imagine:

Only love,

Harmony.

By: Rebekah Archambeault 

Main Player

 Main Player

I’ll never understand him.
All he seems to do is sit there,
For hours at a time.
Typing, clicking, shooting.
“Does he even get up to pee?”
There seems to be an impression in the couch,
An impression that only his little body can fit in.
Nobody dares to sit there when he is gone.
I could be right next to him
And still seem galaxies far far away.
Voices always coming off his headset,
Talking to another boy from Texas or Korea.
“How can he just sit there?"
But then it occurs to me,
What if he wasn’t there?
His impression would be gone.
The voices would fall silent.
His group, clan, or whatever would be short a member.
And I would be left brotherless.
Even though his rants about how much
XP or health he has seem unnecessary.
This is the way he talks,
As if life was his video game.
I am merely the hero’s sister
And he is the main player.
Fighting injustice, casting spells, and defeating demons.
Whatever the battle, it is his fight.
And not mine to judge.
By: Rebekah Rose Archambeault 

Restless

Restless

Breathe in,
Breathe out.
Lay on my side.
No back.
Stomach?
My mind is racing...
Check the clock.
It blinks 12:00.
Great another thing that's broken.
Ok, ok.
Let's try side again.
Good,
Now close my eyes.
Let's count:
1, 2, 3...
And they burst open.
Excellent,
You appeared in my sleepless dream.
Now we're back to stomach.
4, 5, 6...
Wait, did I have a paper due tomorrow?
No, no.
Maybe if I face the other way.
7, 8, 9...
What was that noise?
Now I'll never sleep,
There's obviously a rapist outside my house.
10, 11, 12...
Yep, not going to work.
I'll just settle for the pills.
By: Rebekah Rose Archambeault

Compassion

Compassion
You are five.
Training wheels are off your newly polished bike.
You take it out for a spin,
Swerve around the first corner.
Asphalt covers your face.
Blood on your knees.
The ground came to fast for you to catch yourself.
Then there’s a face:
Smile lines,
Creases in the forehead,
Dimple on the left cheek.
His name is compassion.
He is slender,
Smooth with words
And a heart as big as the river of tears flowing from your eyes.
He looks at the damage.
You see the twinkle in his eyes
As he gently picks you up.
Your head is searing with pain,
But his graceful steps almost put you in a trance.
Through the one eye that is open
You see your bright blue house.
The door opens, and then closes.
Your cuts are lightly bandaged,
And with that, the man is gone.
Even though you never see this particular man again,
You see his marks everywhere:
The look a mother gives her hungry newborn baby.
The touch of a loved one to a widow.
The soothing words on the radio as you slowly fall asleep.
You even start to look like him.
The smile lines forming on your growing face.
Your laugh that rings throughout the entire room.
The creases in your forehead come later,
When you have children of your own.
Your tender tone and loving words
Make the two-toothed baby in your arms giggle.
After a long day you will look in the mirror
And see the man you once saw years before:
Compassion.
By: Rebekah Rose Archambeault

Winter Window

Winter Window



Outside the cabin falls the snow,

The ice glazed glass makes the view difficult.

Yet through one untouched panel there’s a child.

She doesn’t care she’s not wearing her mittens;

To protect her from the below zero water she holds.

Sometimes when the sun glistens over her,

I can see the joy the outside world brings her.

Somewhere in the distance,

Her mother will be calling.

Telling her it’s getting to dark to play:

She’ll catch a cold.

But even as the young girl sniffles

She continues to smile.

Making me feel ignorant to the beauty I can’t seem to grasp.

The beauty that is right through this window.

Instead I remain inside the cabin.

Where it’s warm, safe.

I want the innocence the girl has:

The eyes that see the glory around her.

By: Rebekah Rose Archambeault