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July 17, 2014

I Want A Love that Makes Me Sing. {Poem}

legs in bed

I want a love that makes me sing

When I’m gathering my tea mug

From the desk, or

Walking to the elevator;

Setting my bag down on the chair.

Sing and hum and

Not be thinking of you at all.

Just sing.

Because I’m happy. And

When I’m happy,

I sing.

 

I want a love that rests a chin

On my head when I tuck it into that

Hollow space. When I feel so so

Sad about

Everything. About

Nothing. And

A love who floats with me in my

Smallness that fits

Between a clavicle and jaw and

Gets small with me without getting small. And who

Shines with me in my radiance, bigger than

The sun. And then we’re big there together. Without

Either of us being big.

 

And later,

If there’s pain or fear or loss or phantom movement in

The night, I’ll hold you, and

Not hope to say the

Right thing or do the

Right thing.

When it’s all falling down and all around and I can’t feel

The firmness under me and

I don’t know if everything is going to be okay,

I’ll hold you and

Tell you—because,

Really, it will—

That everything is going to be okay.

 

I want a love that doesn’t know my worth, but

Knows that unknowable place from

Where it comes.

I want a love who knows that place in them.  And

Only through their worth

Sees mine.

 

I want a love that tells me things,

Until it’s late and early and

I’m tired but

No don’t stop, just

Tell me things.

 

Until the sun comes up and

Our noses touch in our whispered

Haste to tell each other all

Our secrets.

 

Love elephant and want to go steady?

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Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Flickr / Quang’y

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