Love – Page 16 – One Woman's Quest

Must Have

(Originally posted May of 2014, this poem describes the early days with ME/CFS. This is an edited version of the original.)

Rain pelts against my window,
cheered on by a relentless wind.
Inside, I lie motionless
on my once-yearned-for
now resigned-to
bed.

Target has those things you’re looking for
texts a daughter, pic attached.
Exactly what I’m looking for
but a million miles away
when energy fails me

Instead, I give in to the fingers
of sleep, pulling me in –
blessed unconsciousness,
oblivion.

A door opens below me,
footsteps, a voice:
Do you need anything?
I don’t respond,
too weak for words.
Do I need anything?

The question reverberates
through mind…
emotion…
body…
comes up empty –
what could I need?
too much
nothing

Rain abates, wind subsiding
and a brief ray of sun
brightens the room –
a promise
of spring
of new beginnings,
and I think:
I need clothes

but clothes means shopping
and shopping means energy
and the cycle continues
and still I lay
unmoved

Then you enter,
an offering of tea
and a gentle word
and with renewed momentum,
I shift to make room for you,
and it all comes clear –
You are what I need

You are my must-have.

(Image: heartofwisdom.com)

You think she’d learn –
collects boyfriends like
other girls amass makeup;
always thrilling at the start
the objectified male’s influence
sticking; believes in commitment
while inwardly protesting
ego creates a scene,
manifests conflict
needs to break away –
heart having leaped
prematurely.

You think she’d learn –
past courtships have
established that infatuation
is the exception: not a trail worth
targeting; where is common sense?
she will not listen, loves the sound
of ‘boyfriend’, is dedicated to desires
of the flesh, blind to problems
balls and chains provoke;
impulse is a good teacher,
she never heeds.

You think she’d learn –
clean slate is not achievable
dramas of the past superimposed
had one too many arse-ended
engagements – needs to minimize
this yearning for affection,
wake up, smash the drive
that invokes mayhem
settle for the institution
of loneliness.

(Image: onehdwallpaper.com)

A Wedding Blessing

(I penned the following poem on the occasion of my son and daughter-in law’s recent wedding celebration. To read more about the ceremony, visit : “Blessing of Interracial Union” )

A son is sweetness and strength and mystery;
here is my son – a gentle soul, kind-hearted
and generous – wasn’t he just a boy, only four
asking his father for work so he could buy me
a pair of earrings: Suns, he said, like you, Mom.

How did that boy, once so caring that he’d save
his treats to share with older sisters, sisters
who would turn around and snub him – he
never seemed to care, accepted it with a shrug
tried again – how is it he is now a man, married?

Always the loyal friend, is he, with an ear for
the downtrodden, offering a hand; I’ve watched
him struggle for independence, study hard,
labour tirelessly, he is a man of vision, a man
with a heart big enough to hold all his dreams.

I want it all, he once told me, eyes focused
on a future only he could see – I read joy
in his countenance, felt pride swelling, knew
this day would come, knew the moment he
first spoke the name Warsan he’d found love.

Warsan, truly good news, precious as the sunrise
her spirit bright, her smile contagious, she is
brilliance, and thoughtfulness, and I could not
have chosen better: a child I can love as my own
a woman our family embraces with open arms

What wisdom can I offer these two, joined
together in love, driven by a commitment
to one another, to family, to shared vision?
Be your best selves, I want to say, approach
anger with tenderness, and pain with warmth

Hold fast to one another in a world that will
challenge you, and know that I will be there
behind you, a rock to your storm, and that
others who have gathered here will do the same
And know, above all, that we celebrate you

Marriage is a vessel, a beginning, an opportunity
It is a bowl in which to place your dreams and hopes
it is a coming together of values, histories, a blending
Let it always be your soft place to land – today
is a new beginning; may this blessing continue.

No Elephants!

Never marry a man
who keeps an elephant
as a pet – trust me, I know.

No matter how slick
his explanations, please note:
elephants are not justification

for lapsed commitments, nor
hollow promises – relationships
can’t bear the costly weight of upkeep

no amount of toiling, cooking, or
maternal influence can detract
from the needs of animal outweighing

all other priorities – and don’t expect
sympathy from an elephant keeper’s
mother, she is in on the dupe, prayed

to offload this burden – compassion
fades swiftly in the face of giant-sized
demands, and elephants require feeding

If there’s an elephant in the equation,
I’d say cut the ties and the discourse –
no doubt another fool is waiting in the wings.

(Image: www.theapicalview.com)

Tender Hearts Fall

Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking his intention

Here’s a man, eyes fiery
coals, hands coarse ,
face leather, smoky
words coaxing affection

Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn

The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him

The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face; slow, seductive,
draws her into his mystery

She is a two-headed lamb,
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a straight line

Hormones rage at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice

Two paths, she thinks,
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided

the man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her
skin – a dead-end street

Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough – tainted?

She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.

(Image: mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)

Hatched

She’s in the kitchen
cleaning, prepping
sweetness; wishes

to nurture childlike
longings – sugar laden
gifts, honeyed chops

hooks her men with
culinary preciseness
as legend prescribes

wants a strong, reliable
type to stir her ovaries
keep her dishing up love

disapproval, like raw egg
drips off her china plates
shame of misadventures
she cannot scrub away

only serves tea now,
the smell of liquor –
mingled with cigarette
and lecherous calloused
hands turns her stomach

avoids the coffee maker
in the same way, despises
the way the bitter brew
makes her head spin –
wits need to be in order

has settled now as hostess
caters to near strangers
whose attention, riveted
by television screens, are

lulled by the rhythmic
sounds of her sanitizing
while eggs cook on stove,
dreams of romance shelved.

(Image: bunnysvintagevictory.blogspot.com)

Hope’s Folly

Mystery holds allure –
dark, unkempt unknowns
entrap a young woman’s heart

She is bright-eyed, trusting
hurried engagements, equates
fatherhood with responsibility

moves in, settles, adopting
parental roles, motherly caring
washes the dishes – is committed

he roams, prowling old haunts
unquenched by domesticity,
hunts for new beginnings, projects

contentment into her passivity
disregards her pleas for passion,
lusts after intimacy of strangers

Stone-faced silence of his family
shatters her disillusionment, echoes
of past follies, like knives punctuate

the repetitive forsaking of self –
putting hope above discernment
desperation selling out to servitude

she is ready to shake complacency
shudders at how low she has fallen
will arise, face her demons, and go.

(image: theordinaryreview.blogspot.com)

Absence

A year ago, my husband was in hospital, having suffered a heart attack and awaiting bypass surgery. I wrote this in his absence. ( Image from http://www.meredithtowbin.com)

One Woman's Quest

Slippers, perched at night stand,
twitching impatiently,
mark the absence of feet,
cannot appreciate the meaning
of unruffled bed covers.

Abandoned, a coffee mug
bemoans its curdling contents,
complains of thick brown lines
contaminating its porcelain shine,
has not noted absence of hands.

Chair, pushed back from desk,
in partial rotation, sits awkwardly,
commanding attention, disturbed
by its misalignment, has not thought
to ponder absence of body.

House, uncomfortable with silence
creaks unnaturally, loudly voicing
objections to the absence of footfalls,
automated machinery and incessant
rings, beeps, and chimes of technology.

I try to reassure them that the absence
is only temporary, that the man whose
presence so strikingly fills this space
will return, hope they cannot read
the apprehension in my tremulous heart.

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Babysitting

eyes wide with wonderment
fix on me, beseeching attention

rosebud lips part in genuine glee
when my coveted gaze meets hers

she tilts her peach fuzz head and
with a shrug of a shoulder expresses

a learned coyness, a treasured cuteness,
softening this old woman’s jaded edges

clumsy, chubby fingers reach, fumble,
eventually grasp their target, instinctively

raised to mouth, pink fleshy tongue
ready to explore – my aged hands

reacting, reflexes set to protect,
shelter inexperience, purity

I am awed by her perfection –
innocence flanked by innate trust

what do I have to teach this precious soul
whose joy of life, untarnished, mocks

my own brand of cynicism, my words
painted with such bias as to destruct

not encourage the fearlessness she displays
eager arms reach for mine, seeking support

unskilled legs desperate to gain a stride
wobble, infantile toes slightly curled

she leads me to the staircase, pridefully
demonstrates how she’s learning to climb

fear fogs my appreciation, having known
the pain of many falls, I reluctantly follow

admire her determination, the patience
it takes to build such dexterity, a resilience

I could learn from, wonder which of us
has more to offer the other, and then

she is done with the exercise, desires to
descend, has no idea how to proceed, and I

happy to oblige, guide her with the proficiency
of someone artful in the act of backing down.

Love Matters

Ex-lovers,
like criminals
line up –
a visceral backdrop

Another vies
to take their place,
a critical eye
and no-nonsense
disposition

questions motivations
highlights the faults
in righteous accusations,
bends the arrow of blame
reassigning guilt

the jilted,
now pathetic,
craves absolution,
starves for appreciation

awakens to
sickening revelation
that sex alone
cannot sustain
relationship

understands
too late
the value
in personal
accountability.

(Image: www.psychologicalscience.org)

Tag: Love