Months ago I joined a local writing group but had only attended one meeting until tonight, when an open mic. event was hosted by a café in the little city ten minutes away from this farm.
I had written a short poem for a beautiful young couple, who were recently married in Fiji, because they reminded me of how Anthony and I were. Their love for each other resonated gently with me, but also made me super nostalgic.
Anyway, for the open mic. I extended the poem to include my grief at losing the love of my life, not anticipating that I might falter in my performance of it!
Here is the poem, dedicated in original form to Tash and Mike and, in extended form, to Anthony and me:
WHAT LOVE IS/& IS NOT
Sometimes,
when I am trying to
figure out
what Love is
and isn’t,
I endeavour to squish it
into a package of
neat-and-tidy certainty,
a security blanket of
absoluteness.
Full stop.
So,
I get anxious
about
the loose threads….
And then it strikes me
that Love is anything but
neat and tidy!
Instead,
Love is an unravelling….
Full of mystery,
and gasping with hope,
Love is a chuckling
journey,
a glass of water
on a really hot day,
and as simple
as a single, tiny,
plump
moment.
It will be my second Christmas without you,
my beautiful, adoring husband.
I want you back
to see the moonflowers blooming.
I want you back
to pick the figs and
to watch the blue wrens flitter busily.
I want you back
to watch Black Books and
to supervise the Sunday roast.
I want you back
to feel the bruise of my Love unravelling into your broad chest.
I want you back
to grip my hand in yours until my fingers crack.
I want you back to help me come to terms with life without you.
I
just
want
you
to
please
come
back.
Sometimes,
when I am trying to
figure out
what Love is
and isn’t,
I endeavour to squish it
into a package of
neat-and-tidy certainty,
a security blanket of
absoluteness.
Full stop.
So,
I get anxious
about
the loose threads….
And then it strikes me
that Love is anything but
neat and tidy!
Instead,
Love is an unravelling….
As I read the poem out tonight, I was in fine form until the third I want you back when I broke into stumbling tears. I was a bit embarrassed that my own poem made me cry but the audience, of around 50 people, was compassionate.
jmgoyder 