If I had a war of my own I would decorate it in purple salvos, red poppies of bullet holes in the mud of uniforms, skulls white like planters, awaiting earth. I would paper the walls with maps so you'd never know where you were and instead of windows I would have anthems and instead of faucets I would have a stove. And I would fill these rooms with foldable people, the kind you can slip under the bed when you don't have company, the kind you can leave behind when it's time to go, because taking them with you would be too easy.
If I had a war of my own I would keep it in the doghouse and take away its bones, let it howl at the lucid moon till it realized she was a friend. I would teach it to lick the hand of thirst, and raise one paw like the statue of Liberty, growling at the beggars who came to our door.
If I had a war of my own I would keep something in it, like bread, or marbles; or maybe the buttons from the shirt that I lost, just in case it comes back. I would pluck grenades from the trees and leave them out to ripen. I would stick a label on it just to tell you what it meant.
If I had a war of my own I would keep it in good repair, cut the flag into little pieces to patch up the tears, sitting all night at my machine gun, stitching, till my big sister Dawn came and cut the thread.
If I had a war of my own I would keep it all to myself. I wouldn't share it with anyone, or only with you, my beloved, only with you.