One war is all wars and all of them equally near or far.
I was born after a cold winter wartime wedding. War had ended. The cold war had begun. The cold war ended. Wars of conquest and wars of liberation continued. The age of humanitarian wars began. A ceaseless storm of warfare, propelling the world into the future. The storm we call progress.
These poems are about this storm and other things we can’t turn our backs on: our personal history and the mystery behind the images and captions of the family photo album.