~My Love Poem And Yours~
Liz Fink Davenport
This is not a love poem,
for a man.
This is a love poem...for me.
And you, sweet girl. Bird. Wild bird. Beautiful broken open heart.
I once spent my waterfall of words on loves that took it and drank it and then turned the shot glass upside down and left the bar. A promise at a taxi. No call. Not in 3 days. Not at all. My milk drunk from the gallon in front of the fridge and put back empty. Fingerprints smudged on my mirrors. Smell of stale cologne in my car. My sheets left untucked. Toothpaste stains in the sink. Key left with the crumbs on the counter. Cigarettes pressed in the ashtray. Ghosts. Shadows.
This is a love poem to my own damn heart. To MY hands. Strong. That have felt slip other fingers through. But still grip. My ribs that opened. And closed. To release and take back in. Over and over. My arms that ached with weight. But still held strong. My mind that searched the whole of desert and dark city and wide wide blue world for him. Still searching. My lips that held tight the last imprint of his. So tight they formed a drawn line. And in that line they stopped breath. They just refused to open again. To not lose that kiss. Breath again!
This is yours. This is your poem too. My darling girl. You are phenomenal. I love you with all the amount of air in this room. And the whole of the earth. I love you with my most treasured gift placed in your keeping. Maybe my grandmother's quilt or a rock I collected when I was 7 that looks like an arrow. I love you in the deep and in the shallows. I love you to the reaches of the sunrise that touch your brow and the closing of the sunset across your lap. I love you with choices. All the choices. Everyday, I choose you. I love you because your laugh is a bicycle bell. I love you because you vibrantly and constantly bewitch me. I love you in your best moments and I love you most at your worst. I love that you fail. Sometimes horribly. And falter. Because that makes you loveABLE. ReachABLE. They are not worthy otherwise. I love your feathery eyelashes that remind me of each tiny thing that brushes your cheek, is blessed to be able to be there. The stars in the black are jealous of those lashes. God, that you had any idea how magnificent you are!
And me. Listen here, me. You are loved too. By me. I'm going to tell me a secret...so I better listen close...I loved me from the moment I was me. You are all I could hope for. You are magic. You are my girl. I think you have done a fan-damn-tastic job of being me. You keep picking yourself up and kissing your own bruised knees and heart and you keep loving. Even when I tell you to stop. You do it again. Boldly. You make me so proud. You are the one I choose. I choose my own heart.
So this isn't a love poem for a man. This is a love poem for me. And you. These are the words I will read and reread to myself in the middle of the night. And sometimes, in the middle of the day. Tuck them in your coat pocket. Bring them out crumpled. Tell yourself you are adored. Treasured.
everyone deserves a love poem.
And this is mine.
And the shadows can write their own.