Nostalgia for War and Peace

Annieepoetry

I get it.  It was a simpler time

A sweeter time for rivers and old trucks

and tongue flicks

Or it was the music

Or maybe we are magnets

and memory aligns us back

to the crystal structure we were before

I’m not sure.  It doesn’t make sense to me

I’m aware of my ignorance.   I don’t need

everything to fit into hard little rows

It doesn’t have to be simple or straight for me

to swallow it whole and let it keep my stomach warm and new

I love winter. There I said it.  I love the cold, the snow

The bundling up with sweaters and blankets

I love hot beverages and rums and scotches

I love cedar in the swamp toppled with clean white snow

And hot steam from my mouth when I breathe out

In steam visions, touching your cheek

As my feet make a trail along a…

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Sounds of leaves in Madison

Here, November means fall
And fall is when the leaves change from green yellow pink orange red burgendy brown. And November is when the leaves are mostly burgendy brown with a few yellow holding onto summer.

They all eventually give up and fall to the ground. The wind blows them down the street,  which is made of pavement here and the sound of leaves scraping and crunching against it, is the great harbinger of rain and ice and snow and bitter winds and gray skies and negative temperatures. Now it is warm and the sun shines but the sky is a pale blue and the leaves are brown and most are down

This year everything seems important.  The way the burgendy brown leaf falls on my open journal as I write or the noise the door makes when eldest daughter opens it,  home from high school or the warm soft fur of my little dog. The sweet soft voice of my littlest daughter squeaky  singing songs of her imagination or the beep I get when husband texts he is coming home. It is all very important and clear and center of my focus, my awareness, my life

I can’t hold it or collect it or slow it
But I know it and how it feels as it fleets across me, scaring and healing me, breaking and building me -this time fabric, this god to me

What am I?

There are 2 million genes of bacteria inside my gut but only 24 thousand genes of my own in my whole body.
Those bacteria have more control over my outcome then I care to admit

I think I’m going to find the oldest living person and lick their ass clean