This too will one day be nostalgic
like remembering our parents after the war:
bouffant, do-wop, slick dos
in the tropics somewhere saving the world.
Sitting here now looking at dwarf clouds
on green mounds,
looking down at a river disappearing
into the mountains
thinking there will always be after
after the war, after plagues,
and thereafter disappearing
into another water cycle,
recycling itself to its present state
yet losing everyone to it.
Soon daughters and sons
will lose mothers and fathers
sometimes too early.
Sometimes all will be remembered
are odd things,
disjointed things—
the crook of the river,
the crook of an arm,
the crook of a tree limb,
a sister's secret whispered
under the guava tree long ago,
your daughter bringing home
star fruit to you
she got down with a rock
when she was ten years old
in Micronesia.
Love in War
There are always greater losses
There is war
Someone falls in love
in that war
& waits
through the protests
& pillage
no matter how strong
the intent
It is
the treacherous gradients
of indifference
of time & distance
that leaves you levitating
even when the war
is long over
Cristina Querrer is a US Army veteran with two published books of poetry: By Astrolabes & Constellations and The Art of Exporting. Querrer is also an artist, singer/songwriter, and podcaster.