I am going back in memory and, therefore, time
to the first inklings of love at church camp
in Summersville, West Virginia. Where those
sermons and songs and testimonies of love
and hell and forgiveness and salvation
prepared my heart and body for love.
Where stolen, hidden kisses and caresses
were proof of Cupid’s arrows hitting the mark,
Venus whispering, pointing, “There. There.”
And dreams I never knew I could have appeared.
The years of falling in and out of love,
the word “forever” echoing, the tastes of lips,
the scent of love, the touch forever new.
Days, weeks, months feeling like years.
Beginnings and endings blurred as if
the time too fast to hold, one heart entering
another – the sheer ignorance of love.
Then the arrow that would not shake loose.
Venus saying, “That’s enough.” Love and
life and poetry mixing, mixing, mixing
until recollection and reflection settled in.
That last arrow I still lovingly touch.
Hootism: if you don’t do what is yours to do, how will it get done?