The Bottle Brush Tree is native to
The Bottlebrush is known as the essence of
the Kookaburra, it holds abundance, laughter, and joy just like the bird itself. The flowers of the bottlebrush are used to celebrate birth and all that’s new.
Bright red floral brushes, are the color of our life-blood, the color of passion and love, blooming after rain they represent fertility and love. Their bottlebrush name invokes banishing, cleansing and renewing energies. Red, the color of fire, they represent death and rebirth, doorways and entrance to the underworld.
‘The Bottle Brush ’is my eight entry for Cee’s FOTD challenge
In this piece, a homeless vet writes to a friend. I used a composite of the stories I heard as a therapist who worked with homeless vets in San Francisco.
Thought I’d drop you a few lines since this week makes
five years since we left Iraq.
I know you say you ain’t the same without ur leg but I hope
ur feeling better.
I’ll feel hella better when I throw out these pills for crazies.
Why does the fuckin’ V.A. give me pills when I say I need food?
Why don’t shrinks know people go crazy from hunger?
My partner died of AIDS last year, so I got no one to talk to, so I
went to Reno last month.
The ticket was a free one way, so I figured I’d go see family.
That was a big mistake.
My bitch of a sister wouldn’t let me meet my nephew ‘cause I came out gay.
Her Holy Roller husband kept sayin’ he’d shoot me for Jesus.
I told them to kiss my faggot ass!
I spent the rest of my money for a one way back to Frisco.
That’s life for uppity fags and burnt out war heroes.
I keep hoping you’ll send me a card so I know ur alive.
I’d call but I can’t buy a phone.
I get $300 a month
General Assistance and it costs $200 for a week in a crap hotel, so’s I won’t have a place for the next three weeks, but please write to that address I sent anyways.
Homeless people write on the walls when they bed down to sleep in Clarion Alley.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2018 – revised August 2019
I was under powerful witchcraft and hoped I was possessed.
I thought of little Reagan; the tricks he did with the crucifix.
He was light in the head and rose by circumstance.
Were I novelist, I’d have written a story, but instead I spun
and spewed garlic.
Judy asked if I was trying to vomit and I snarled, “No! I need a
Judy said what I
really needed was a time out until I learned
I’m starting to think Judy doesn’t love me.
The staff carried me off before I could levitate.
Rob Goldstein (c) 2017 All Rights Reserved
Note: Seclusion is a nursing intervention defined as the solitary containment of an agitated patient in a fully protective environment.