This poem is part of my series Letters from Home, written in the voice of my mother. She read Shakespeare voraciously, was an anglophile, and so I chose the sonnet form for her.

I would no sooner think of you and war

Than would I dip my hand in scalding water.

My hand alone will hold our son or daughter

Joined with yours, three months, no more,

To mother’s wry surprise, though held at bay

For you, beloved and by her adored.

So soon my tethered heart become unmoored

By my own hand, the dock line tossed your way.

Alive, my foolish heart became sincere,

Nights on the porch, no swinging with the band.

To you I turned the cards and showed my hand.

My love, I cannot write my smothered fear.

In truth my hours are the war and you.

Be safe, my love, where you are I am too.