On True Love And Its Essential Value

September 29, 2016 at 7:22 pm Leave a comment

On True Love and Its Essential Value

having turned
and turned again
to that (now faded)
portrait of you, a bust…

You are so much
a part of me
there is no place
i can say, you began…

And i knew this, that there
was no forgetting.
I knew that then.
I did not hold.  I let go.

having turned
and turned again
to your portrait…at length, for a while, i manage to
look away.

Actually quite true–except for having a bust.  I have no pictures of her at all, unless memory counts.  It happened–that year did–about 38 years ago.  I try not to think of her, and when I do, it is as if (to others) I were having an ‘absence seizure’ or petit mal.  Some paths you may only walk once, and expect afterwards unending echoes, so to speak.

And how could I do aught else?  I’d even said I loved her.  I’m trying to learn that phrase again with my brother.  Before that, my adopted mother, who would cherish the phrase for a moment and then think of something cruel to do; I even had witnesses.  Oh, and I had to say it, or I wasn’t being dutiful.  Before that…more to forget.  Nice to have actually forgotten some things.  Oh well.  Things happen; we all occasionally live “in interesting times.”

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, Autobiography, poetry, psychology, social psychology. Tags: , , .

A Short Note Let the Buyer Beware

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