She tilts her head, eyes slim, and her voice
drops into rumble range as she says
"I love you." My whole body reacts.
Anything I can say is cliche. I am wise
and grown and so very damaged,
but I confess to you and all
I think I deserve her. I am due
this passion. I will make her happy,
I will spend my days at it. All else
is caught in this current as we
hurtle downstream.
© Maggie Jochild. Written 9:08 p.m., 20 September 2011
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4 comments:
This poem is so apt an expression of what I felt when I was getting to know my wife that it might have been written for us. In fact, when I saw it labeled "Lesbian Poetry," I was surprised. I didn't know I was a lesbian... Thank you so much, Maggie, this is beautiful.
Sometimes I wonder whether my critical faculties are dimmed by love. I was pretty sure that's not the case, and Acilius confirms it: truth and beauty are flowing from your fingertips.
Acilius, consider yourself an honorary lesbian. The highest accolade.
Yes, Acilius, you are one of us.
Deep passion occurs where it can find a wellspring.
And Margot, you are calling this forth in me.
Thanks for the compliment, M & M! Some women I was friends with in college once declared that they were going to make a TShirt for me with "Honorary Lesbian" printed on the front. That was, well, several years ago, and I'm still waiting. I've reestablished contact with some of them online recently, maybe I'll start nagging them about it.
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