Love, Me

One time someone gave me love and I did not feel it

One time I dug a hole

I caused a wound

I called on sickness and I did not heal it

One time

There was a gift

A love so simple and slight

I couldn’t see it in the dark dark night but I could sure feel it

Slow or fast or not at all

I still feel it

Big or small

I still feel it

There was a hand

The feel of fingertips

against my cheek

My belly

My thigh

A connection both deep and shallow

A desire

Bringing me back to my breath

What’s best

Parading through the days of our lives

Whispered advice

Across church pews

Finger interwoven with finger

Heartbeats keep time here in our quiet room

There is no move

To make

No right action to take

Only breathing and being

Sharing and freeing yourself from the constraints of rules and stories that will take your nose

despite your face

This here is bounded and safe

This is awake

Now I try to feel it

Gut/Heart/Brain/Bones

Antenna up; smooth, washed

Sense of smell heightened; Year of the Dog

A million times someone gave me love and I felt it

I smelt it

Stuck my face in rubbed my back in and rolled around in it

Let that love move my feet along broken sidewalks

Let that love speak my words for me; soft and easy

Let that love stretch my body, work my body

Read my books with me

Take my bicycle for a spin

Let that love smooth out wrinkles then make more wrinkles

Jump on beds

And call all the ex-lovers and say

Ha!

One day I found myself cradled in the strong branches of a tree

Eyes open it still took several seconds to surmise if I was in the desert or the swamp

I kissed her and said goodbye

The Irish way (not at all)

I left the outer layer of my skin on hers

There rough and soft mixed together to make something new both like and unlike me or you

It was a holiday, one I didn’t celebrate

My neighbor jumped into her sister’s car and they headed to church