love poem
you want a love poem? (“yeah,” you say, confidently).
okay, I’ll give you a love poem.
I love –
(wind crackles in the trees, the light bulbs flicker,
paint continues its residence under my fingernails.
time stops, but only for a second.)
– well actually, the point is not to tell you but to show you.
moonlight on broken glass, and all that.
so –
(the tea kettle whistles. ceylon steam rises from the metal.)
– let me show you. I’ll give you a show poem.
…you know that ship in moby dick, the one looking for her children,
at the very end?
I love someone like that –
but, not the way you think they’re like that.
… pretty. obviously.
even when things are objectively ugly,
our loving them makes them pretty again,
like they must have been when the world started,
before the apple/pomegranate/what have you,
when there was no right or wrong.
…think of ginger. hold that thought.
now think of laying your head on the shoulder
of the person next to you in the cinema.
now go do something else for a while,
because that’s a lot to process.
…now think about your first kiss.
(if you’ve never kissed someone –
go kiss someone and then think about it.)
it’s not hard, right?
but it’s not how you thought it would be, either.
for example,
I did not think I would have my first kiss with my best friend,
in her car,
outside my house,
while holding a plastic container of gingerbread.
– anyways, I don’t kiss and tell because this “is a show poem.”
…so when the seatbelt is digging into your shoulder, do you take it off?
when your phone rings, do you answer it?
when you’re born, do you die,
or do you wait a little bit?
…the point is, why procrastinate while you’re alive.
you’re already procrastinating on dying by living,
and I think that’s enough procrastination for anyone.
…are you confused?
yeah? so am I.
(this is a love poem.)