Dear Kevin C. Powers,
I had never considered that loving could be not killing or ten minutes of sleep. But loving is, in some way, finding ways to penetrate others to connect deeply with them. But war is also piercing, so what is love?
I think, during lulls, how to redefine killing and loving. How it may feel to love in the midst of killing and how ten minutes of sleep could make me love a little more.
In a letter addressed to you, I’m letting you know that loving is definitely not killing. But what does it mean that my letter only smells of Boston spring?
Rereading your poem to understand something I may never experience.