More at war
Warring days are complicated the most to me, it creeps in. The legs refuse that hill, the teeth reject the apple, the ankle reminds you of its embedded metal. Nothing quite works on warring days. The phone call would have been too much, the pain has crept in, there is no ode to train, it is full of dysfunction and pain today. The happy shiny faces getting coffee are too fake, the sun is too hot. The garden too nice for a woman at war. The day is too bright, war needs winter, the gentle embrace of that early darkness shrouding me to its hearth. War needs a dark space not this enforced long summer nights, no laughing or fun times. War is here today, welcome, pull up a seat, I was expecting you.