Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Resistance is futile...


It is coming. There is nothing we can do about it. I hate being forced into loving someone, even a friend, relative, or long-lost brother.
I don't want to buy you a present because it's your birthday. I want to be walking past a store front, have something knock me flat on my patookas and say to me, "Hey! Wouldn't so-and-so just L-O-V-E me?"

And so-and-so DOES love it because it is exactly him or her or it. This cannot happen when you are looking for it; it doesn't work like that. It's kinda like love that way. So, as the dreaded day nears.

Resist.
Futile or not,
Resist.

I have been revising this one, and I think it's ready for something.
Enjoy.
(Resist.)

***
THIS IS NOT A VALENTINE'S POEM.

There will be no bits of shiny red foil
Left in shreds after the sweet or
Bitter
Chocolate has been devoured.

There will be no
Flowers
Left to wilt
Or pressed like a memory between the fattest
Forgotten pages in the house.

And let us not even speak
Of the parched hearts--
Paper
And sugar--
Bought and sold for
So much silver.

For my real heart is a fool
Immortal
Who lives for all the foolishness
She has ever read or heard or seen.
She believes Juliet will wake in time
Trusts she will live forever
With you.

So,
If there is to be red
Let it be for blood
Hot
Messy
Tasting of copper and fire

Let it be for wine,
Spilled and swallowed
Between bites and stolen kisses

And
If there are to be flowers
Let them be fresh and
Sharp scented as dandelions.
And as plentiful
And as suddenly precious
As the giving can make them.
(Any Wednesday will do)


14 February 2005

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

i want my valentines day to be exactly the end of this poem. even if it is on a wednesday.

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