My Take on Love.

for marsha

at the poetry festival

someone stands up,

like someone homeless being 

helped to their feet,

or the pillars of a pier

not knowing (or caring)

just how emotional

the surf of a hurricane can be,

or soil erosion

and I'm thinking, Oh s**t,

how does one know endings

or even care of outcomes?  But

not caring is the official

speech of festivals:

balloons with

string that wrap around your ankles.

Kites with string

let go to hoover over

us,

a town, again, that holds festivals.

That understands that American love is different

than all the others. Here it can be returned

without a sales slip, just so long as the

price tag is still attached. 

I had a friend who was so very good

at re-attaching price tags. Fingering

the plastic anvil through  the cardboard hole of

heartache and salvation

with the patience of an old woman.

She later fell in love

and flew off.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Ah, the woman that became a balloon. The wise jacob and Diego have said much and said it well about this piece, and there is little I could say to amplify their sage words. I would note the subtle yet wicked commentary on poetry festivals, and I would also note that, though it appears on the surface that the piece is blithely meandering from festival to balloon to returning a blouse or pair of jeans, there is a laudable, almost legal-brief, tightness in how the ideas and metaphor proceed apace. Pretty sneaky, my dear friend.

[Marie Anzalone]

We go in with an escape clause written into the contract in fine print, not understanding that each encounter is forever written into our DNA. Because we do not believe in permanence, or the sancity of sacred ideas and places. It shows in our treatment of artifacts and other cultures. On one hand, we do no take ourselves too seriously, on the other hand we do not take things seriously enough.

so says the woman who is initiating an excrutiatingly painful spiritual divorce with the agonizing realization that we cannot learn any more form each other. Maybe that learning is the key; if so, it can be said that you and I with our ability to communicate and understand each other's kites love far better, having never met in person, than my ex and I ever learned to. Sad state of affairs, and yes, the right one will make you fly off headlong into life. I did that once, too. He got scared and left but he forced my feet on a path that led me here. I no longer have any patience, I fear, for the actions of the argant or of fools, but all the patience in the world for the humble and wise.

I wonder if knowing oursleves is as deep as ever gets?


"hoovering" should be "hovering"

[Carl Drake Barnard]

Hehe Wow... Here I was like no way and Boom soul crushing tear sobbing piece!! My Heart screamed when I read this sweety REal emotional stuff! I even needed to read it over to pass the intense sensation of emotions flowing within your words rhyming my heart to the endless crying need of wonder! Radical!! :)
Really a great touching although bitter sweet ending *
Thanks for sharing Lovely :)
-CDB

[Corset]

Can't believe you still ache for Minnie Pearl, but then, who in their right mind wouldn't?

[writing mojo]

deflate in my swooning to catch each heir you conversant in covalent bond of the confidence you wisp enough to know the highs and lows of such gaseous matters..yes love from struggle can be atlas toppings holding the strings of who is servant or master ..excellent piece

[Lydia Shutter]

WOW, the imagery and the metaphor here are splendid, Dana! Yes, it does seem that people try to get a refund on love or at least an even exchange. Very well written. Lydi**

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow i see something totally different here...

i see love that does come with a price tag...someone who loves but at cost...and that person reminds us at every turn how valuable his or her love is...

it is not love that is given freely and unconditionally...
and there is no money back guarantee either.

clever as always you are...love the line about "someone helpless being helped to their feet.."

good good good.

[Tree]

Without revealing too much, you hand us the keys to the kingdom. Carefully scribed, there is a subtlety to this piece that is lower than a whisper, yet you can still make out the whimper. If the 5th stanza is the engine that powers this poem into the horizon than the rest of the stanzas are the wheels, the body, and the steering wheel.

nice work, Dana.

Diego