Poem: In Real Life

In real life

If I had authority with you,
you would have declared yourself,
your intentions, your life, to me long ago.
New York would maybe still be a dream
and we’d be approaching twenty years of
matrimony with teen-aged children. Perhaps.
This lost possibility is the root of my anger,
disillusionment and doubt. If love and nurture
avoided me in my youth – flushed with
so much promise, hope, and enthusiasm
why would it seek me in my aging years?
When the cycles of life are
reversing and deteriorating?

If I had any power, you would have
never been more than arms reach away,
available when I needed to be held or
wanted to hold, to cling, to disappear into you.
In all ways, for all time, you’ve been my manifested vision.

If my authority and awareness of you meant
anything in this realm, real life would be
different. Yet we exist in a world where
we’ve breathed nearly half our lives
in different time zones and opposing realities.
Left with wispy memories of surprising
communion and brief touches. My hand
resting on your bicep in a passing greeting
(my hand has never looked so small)
Your forearms clasping at the curve
of my lower back, pulling me into
a close embrace. The residue of a
Powerfully magnetic connection lingers
still – even though we haven’t shared
physical space in a dozen years.

As much as I’ve decried this as a one-sided
attraction, trying to write it off as
only in my head, you’re simply better
at resisting, camouflaging – substituting.
Like a magnetic center, my mind stays on you.
It can travel no meaningful distance
without being pulled back. Nature, balanced as it is,
tells me I must be your magnetic center as well.
Stuck in a rotation we have no control over,
or more scientifically, F = GMm/R².

“Don’t walk away from me, Woman!”
will forever be the sexiest string of words
my ears could possibly hear.
“I’m not,” the subtlest surrender,
a simple declaration – a promise for the ages.
Though “I can’t” is more accurate.
I am here. Present. Waiting an eternity
to be welcomed home.

Yes, I tried walking away from this deferred union.
Tried ejecting myself off the shelf you placed me on,
from which I’ve reluctantly observed all I’ve been
unable to engage in. Never wanting to know anything
about your life as long as I’m not invited to share it.

It’s interesting to know you feared a volcanic eruption
– a loss of emotional control that could have
Incinerated everything around you –
while I feared being a doormat. So totally consumed
by your presence, personality and life, I simply laid myself
down at your feet. Overwhelmed, but quietly accepting.

What if our fears held our truths?
What if both fears were – are still – valid and survivable?

What if your scorched earth is a way to prepare
the ground for new growth? Rebirth?
Rejuvenation? A new way of thinking and being?

What if my doormat vision was simply
surrender and supplication? An invitation
for you to join me in posture and heart space?

What if I can think of no better place to be
than at your feet, a la Ruth, should you choose
to lay yourself down with me, a la Boaz?

Sunset Crater Volcano is one the most beautiful places
my eyes have seen. The cratered mountain is covered
by pitch black lava-covered-earth. The flourishing
re-populated forest, which had to break through
incinerated earth encrusted with thousand-year-old
lava rock, stands as witness to the true force of life.
The nutrient-rich scorched earth is evidence
of its volatile nature. The well-nourished
flora and fauna, are the truth of love.
The whole volcano is a fantastic display
of certain death and absolute life.
The evolution of cycles.

I’m not scared of you. Erupt. Usher in your next era.
Perhaps it will include me, maybe it won’t.
Your existence has enriched me with nutrients
found only in the fire of longing. Life being what it is,
I’ll keep growing through the crevices toward the light.

On some level, in some dimension, we are
already One, we’ve never been parted. Our intentions
have always been clear, pure with direct, honest
communication. We’ve already figured this out in real life.
LaShawnda hones, ALONE | All Alone