half-anniversary love poem

by jdavidcharles

I thought I would process my two-and-a-half year relationship with my girlfriend by putting two image-events at war with one another. One making a moderately cliche comparison of a relationship like building something, in this case via etch-a-sketch, and the second a surreal experience I had as a young kid which I will let the poem present. I figured I would let the two events commune, both by revealing agreements and disagreements and having each image come to repose in a bizarre sort of asymmetric reconciliation (just like, egad!, relationships). Each image-event also is described from a few perspectives, revealing, hopefully, how relationships are often the stance you take towards them or the thing you name it (once one person decides to label the relationship as contentious it “is” contentious). Enough chit-chat. Enjoy.

 

half-anniversary love poem


the fine perimeter of two and a half years

of you, etched into my being less like

mystic runes or letters in red than

a childhood etch-a-sketch, awkward,

stale rouge, hands worn from snaking the

clouds to sun to stars and moon down

the top of the hatched roof-top to the boy

with his balloon scaling through clouds

and back down to the tiny terrier lapping up

puddles of muddy rain water, only to find

you need to shake the whole mess up because

the rain spilling out clouds into puddles looks a bit too

much like countless balloon strings stretching

out of frame to God-knows-where above;

a perimeter like countless balloon strings

torquing through the galactic spheres of

Dante which are somewhere off the page

of paradiso just outside the window collecting

into galactic puddles of bright blue; balloon

strings like rain falling from clouds like

balloons through space only to land in puddles

of clouds meant to look like muddy rain water;

a perimeter like two and a half years of cleaning

up balloon strings with no balloons attached

falling like insects through the sky into the

palms of our hands; like the perimeter of my

hands when I was a child holding two fallen insects

back to back in the heart of my palm, rain falling,

certain it was some double-headed mutant, when

my father came down the bright blue steps of our

stairs to the muddy puddle of rain I was sitting in

to ask me why I was holding two insects making love

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