Home from the War

My memory stops at certain points, she said,
and picks up again when I’m no longer sad.
I took her into my bed to love her warm body
and to sleep, two hearts filling the night sky
with little stars we called drums, we thought
we could hear them seeing black turn to white.
That was how I dreamed. I listened when I woke
wondering where we came from to be so sick
of this world, or was any world only a planet
so many stars are, places to spend the night.
She was fine as long as I stayed home. She loved
me making memories with her but not a child.
When she was wild I dreamed I could tame her.
The longer she loved me the more there was to fear.

(31 October 2013: III)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander