How do you explain what love is?
There’s an old man on my block. We talk daily and on holidays
when he hugs me, he holds me like he knows me.
This is a kindness that haunts me.
I think of women in bars, pushing dollar bills
into my hands, telling me sternly
that it’s my birthday and they’re buying my drinks.
If it’s raining, the way all our umbrellas poke and touch.
The first time I was in love,
I couldn’t look him in the eye during dates.
Now that same old stranger is waving to me
from street corners and I don’t blink,
afraid for when we inevitably must move out of sight.
I hope everyone I’ve kissed thinks of me just once more.
There is someone in particular I wish I could forget
but he was so good, it seems like a waste.
Love is never a waste, but it’s not exercise either.
My parents believed they would be together for seven lifetimes.
My father died over a decade ago, like he was trying
to get a head start on the next time.
Someone told me once, “When I see you again,
I’ll press you against all the furniture in your apartment.”
This promise is still aching to be true.
Is it possible that everyone who said
they would love me forever really meant it?
Is someone else also cursing their elephant heart,
watching children playing with baby dolls, thinking- what?
Could that have been us if we were good?
Oh, honey, weren’t we, in our hearts of hearts, good?
Or, was love just a kindness we would have to pay for?
jacobvanloon
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