Love, Vaginas & Cockroaches

And so we have arrived: the day of love, V-day, torture, whatever you want to call it.

I know, there are some of you who are happy in love, and that’s a beautiful thing. And then there are those of you who are just indifferent about the whole thing. I guess I’m somewhere on the spectrum between tortured and indifferent, leaning more toward the latter.

Valentine’s Day used to be my favorite. I was always fortunate enough to get a teddy bear or box of chocolates out of the whole thing. And who doesn’t love teddy bears and chocolate? Now, I admittedly find more pleasure in stripping the day down to its historical, not so romantic origins, which are a bit different than our present-day version.

Historians trace V-day back to the pagan festival Lupercalia: “A lovers’ holiday tracing its roots to raucous annual Roman festivals where men stripped naked, grabbed goat- or dog-skin whips, and spanked young maidens in hopes of increasing their fertility.”

Um, yeah.

Christianity, of course, replaced the pagan interpretation with its own version. As the story goes, Roman Emperor Claudius II banned all men from marrying in an attempt to strengthen his army. But Valentine refused to comply and continued marrying couples in secret.

It was a lovely gesture and a heroic effort in the name of love. However, the ending isn’t quite as sweet. Claudius eventually hunted Valentine down, arrested him, beat him to death, and cut his head off.

So there’s that.

Now there seems to be a resurgence of death and destruction attached to our jour d’amour. A zoo in Texas (appropriately enough) is celebrating Valentine’s Day by soliciting jilted lovers to assign their ex’s name to a cockroach, and then feed it to a meerkat. No joke.

Not gonna lie, I was tempted. Okay, no I wasn’t, but I might have thought of a name or two.

The abbreviation of the name, V-Day, has also been adapted over the years to pay tribute to other deserving honorees- one of them being our vaginas. Eve Ensler, author of the Vagina Monologues, declared February 14 “Vagina Day” as a campaign to end domestic violence and sexual abuse of women.

I’m sure this made St. Valentine do a somersault in his grave, but I’m all about it. I’m getting way more pleasure from the star of Eve’s show than from Valentine’s. 

And then there’s V-day/Victory Day, of course- a day to celebrate a final military victory, which I’m also all about. 

So here’s my proposition: for those of us on the tortured/indifferent spectrum, let’s designate today as 3V Day – a day to celebrate our love of love, our vaginas (and the protection thereof) and victory over anyone who comes within 10 centuries of our derrieres with a whip.

Don’t worry, guys, we will forbid death by execution (or meerkats) for any wrong-doings. But it might behoove you to utilize the whole “love, honor, cherish” approach just in case…

And for all of you, regardless of gender, who have also lost love, or just forgotten what it feels like, you are not alone or forgotten. And although it’s not as cute as a teddy bear or as good as chocolate, here is a Valentine from me to you:

Love doesn’t always look the way we want it to, come from whom we want it to, or unfold when we want it to. But it’s still here, like water, always changing forms, sometimes flowing freely and sometimes evaporating into something we can no longer see.

But it’s still here, filling in the cracks of our broken hearts and infusing our breath with life. We just have to keep letting it flow and trust that, in time, it will return, revealing itself in ways we never expected and replenishing what we thought we had lost, to overflowing.

Echoes of Paris

I pushed through the splintered door- weathered from centuries of rain and neglect, that never seem to relent. The smell of Frankincense and Myrrh lingered, cutting through the damp chill and deafening silence echoing across the room…

The day, beginning its end,
Poured through the stained glass.
Drowning out images of sin,
And my redemption.

Flooding the room with gold,
Holding the shadows at bay.
Forcing my eyes to close.
And your resurrection.

                                             

                                                   * Painting by Emanuel M. Ologeanu

                                                         

 

* Painting by Emanuel M. Ologeanu

 

 

 

 

 

Resurrection

Take me there, where nothing is familiar,
And everything, an adventure.

Where foreign languages swirl around us,
Exotic music spilling into the streets.

A world away from fear,
So deeply entrenched, we dare not risk,

Leaping, falling…breaking.

Take me there, faith restored,
And dare me to do something we shouldn’t.

 

Peanut Butter

They all won’t be sad, promise.

And for those of you who have already read this one, apologies for the repeat. It’s just, I took the first bite of my apple…

—

Mushy apples, wet peanut butter, cigarette smoke.
Plastic straws, caged animals, tree stumps.
Distended bellies, oppressed souls, false hope.

Hiccups, parking tickets, splintered wood.
Sirens, screeching brakes, raised fists.
Apathy, the sound of pain, someday I should.

You deserve the best, cold feet, flights home.
Bad timing, broken promises, empty words.
Twilight, sleeping alone…waking up alone.

Illustration by Heather Horton

* Cover illustration by Ashley Bowersox

Cream or Sugar

Maybe in another lifetime,
Our fates liberated from the confines of continents,
The injustice of timing,
The pre-existence of her and him.

Maybe then… you’d know.

Texas

I truly believe that people come into our lives for a reason, at just the right time, to enrich us in some way- to steer us in the right direction, help us realize our potential and remind us to live and love fully.

But there are also times when these lessons are as painful as the reasons are unfathomable. And their messengers, more menacing than we thought humanly possible.

I might never understand why he came into my life and what lessons I was supposed to learn, but I do know this:

These messengers can try to strip us of our dignity, shatter our hearts, and reduce us to ashes.

But they will never steal our fire.

TEXAS

 

 

2 A.M.

You laid on my chest,
Counting the beats,
While I counted yours.

Waiting,
Hoping you’d say,
See? They beat the same.

 

 

Broken

Kintsugi is the centuries-old tradition of repairing pottery by filling in cracks with gold, with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for haven been broken.

 

 

 

 

No love, you are not broken.
There is nothing to be fixed.

You are just beautiful in a way most can’t understand.

But you don’t want most, do you.
You don’t need to be understood by those.
Who can’t see the beauty in imperfection.

 

Naked Guise

You will not find poetry here
Here, no poet resides.

Just a collection of words
Infused with magic, (which cannot be defined)

Summoned by a gypsy soul
Hiding behind a naked guise.

Follow @summoningmagic.com

Naked Guise: Poetry Undefined

We need to talk.

I don’t think this is working. It’s, I just, the timing is bad. We’re both in different places…

But I swear, it’s not you, it’s me.

Okay, I, for one, don’t need to hear that conversation again…ever.

So instead of torturing you with a dramatic exit (when you know I’m just going to come back when I start to miss you), let’s try this.

This isn’t goodbye. We’re just going on a little excursion, an adventure of sorts…and you know how I love an adventure.

It’s not as mysterious as it seems (probably less so for you, than me). And, they say there might be magic to find, summoned by a girl...hiding behind a naked guise.

If you need time to think about it, I understand. But when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting here, where Poetry’s Undefined.