warning: this is a soppy girlfriend post.
Love rode 1500 miles on a grey
hound bus & climbed in my window
one night to surprise both of us.
the pleasure of that sleepy
shock has lasted a decade
now or more because she is
always still doing it and I am
always still pleased. I do indeed like
who come half a continent
just for me; I am not saying that patience
is virtuous, Love
like anybody else, comes to those who
and leave their windows open.
So, I guess they do have poems about long-distance lesbian relationships. Who knew?
Yes, this is an Anniversary Post, for the record. Because I met Winter a year ago tomorrow and I've been living out my own poem ever since. I get a kick out of the fact that the day I met her just happens to coincide with a major pagan holiday that's all about sex (Happy Beltane, everybody!) Heh.
Meeting her was a lot of Alix Olsen
and I’m sorry if you’re thinking that I knew what I was doing
I guess what I do best is look like I am in control
but tonight, tonight, I am a soft and untamed thing
and I will wrap my breath around you til your exhale comes clean.
I am checking my pulse
I am checking my pulse.
And then I wandered around Ireland, reciting Yeats to myself (Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled/And paced upon the mountains overhead/And hid his face amid a crowd of stars) and drowning my sorrows in little pubs.
Going home was every forlorn love poem you can think of.
Deciding we wanted to be together provoked, inexplicably, the Beatles. Not a great Romantic poet, or a classic Second-Wave dyke poet, no, I walked around for a week with "She Loves You" stuck in my head.
The past several months have been endless Adrienne Rich:
You've kissed my hair
to wake me. I dreamed you were a poem,
I say, a poem I wanted to show someone ...
and I laugh and fall dreaming again
of the desire to show you to everyone I love,
to move openly together
in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,
which carries the feathered grass a long way down the upbreathing
And now, when we do manage to snatch some time together from every-day reality, I think of Olga Broumas:
lips suspect, unspeakable
we cross the street, kissing
against the light, singing, This
is the woman I woke
the woman that woke
Happy anniversary, Winter.