Hammers of war

SOC Writing _ 6.7.21

Hammers of war

The bright burning of his descent into French field and farm – the companion of good, everyday people who aid him – got him on his feet, ankle swollen – then to prison – death camps and beyond. I touch your face and cry – so grateful that I got to know you a little in this life – wonder who you were at 24 – anything like me with your large tooth filled smile – a beautiful human specimen – and I weep for your travail – for your baptism in human destruction and despair – I am grateful – I live under the show of your greatness – your wealth built of good luck, stolen lands and your work – I am grateful – did I say that? She at home receiving word of your being lost – how did Joan feel? What was happening in this newly wed? I do not understand your war time life time – only the jam, scones, and teas – only the barking dogs and your enjoyable rage upon Glen Devon – I have been wondering in my heart about you – whether you actually have a fidelity that I seem to want from you – too much running off for this and that – he and the aya – I don’t know – my boy – or is it me – wants to end this and be done – or can’t yet find language to ask you for what I need without fear of being too much – being stingy – or worse – trying to mould you, control you – like I did previously.  I must speak my truth or else leave all of a sudden – I owe myself this much to grow in my communication – to own my needs whether or not you wish to meet them – I am now far away and will struggle to let you in – for I have asked everything of myself with you – perhaps you have too – but you are young and selfish – so you say – and I’m still wondering if this works for me – is this just a short spring – and is winter a time for great harvest – or a being alone? I do not know – my gut turns and this new script is somewhat on hold as I come back first to myself and what I need before I extend myself again for you – your people and great love.