The Stronghold

Yes, 1997 was an eventful year for my love life. John was...the road not taken. Something that started beautifully, ended somewhat less beautifully, but I can honestly say that I look back on it with fondness. I don't forget the bad, but I recognize the good, and honestly say that John was that first real love.

In giving thanks for love
spirit-fathers,
mothers from the dawn of time,
you sent me away
from my sea-edged desert,
my ageless dune,
to the bayou,
to the young moist ground
thick with trees.
i didn't know
what to expect there.
i was reckless in going,
but you guided me.
i was running from a past
where i was bound by what others
called love.

with chains disguised as tenderness,
they caressed my hair with one hand,
and scratched my face with the other,
sank their coyote teeth into
my soft neck
and bled me dry.
but it was in the name of love.

this other that you sent me to,
he was tall and strong
as the horses that carried you in that
other world.
he didn't expect anything more
than the warmth of friendship,
soft as the breeze that blows off
my ocean.
his eyes were proud,
not murky like the swamps
of his bayou.
he did not bind me,
hold me tight in a bear's grip,
clasp my ankle in a steel trap.

he touched me,
but it was fawnsoft,
doeshy,
and the fire stole up on us
and consumed us,
but we did not burn.
and its warmth was
the beat of the fierce sun of my desert,
the abrasive burn of the salt-tinged waves
but it cooled and calmed,
with the deep quiet
of his bayou.

lips gentle,
hands seeking,
clasping,
running over each other
like water.
bodies entwined in the
ancient dance
of love.

for this gift,
my fathers, my mothers,
i thank you.
for blessing me
with bonds of love,
not fear or pride,
not lust, or the hunger
that eats at the spirit.

i am the girl
that stole the fire.
i am sister to the fire,
and together with my love
we make a fire
that burns greater than the sun.
--February 1998

No Lonely Tower
I've built myself a tower
Shored up the walls
Cut off my hair
Locked tight the door
Melted the key
Your fingers are so nimble
That you found the chinks
Climbed a ladder of cracks
Didn't need to pick the lock
Just touched it once, and it gave
I've tried my best to keep you out
But I'm still my worst betrayer
You keep finding your way back in,
though I was the one
Who locked me up tight--
Or was I?
--17 September, 1999
(pre-break up)

Five Years
It was today, I think
Or maybe yesterday.
I remember the excitement
The fear
The amazement at the trees.
I remember the brown cords,
the little brown jacket,
the way I threw myself into your arms,
even though we'd never met.

It was years ago today.
Five years ago.
I can't help thinking about it now,
since it would've been five years in
five days.
We were different then,
younger. Belonged to each other.
And even now,
There's still a part of me
that belongs to you.

There are things that
Only you understand.
Only you know.
Some things about each other,
we never really got,
But what we went through
in those two years together
Still lives with me.

I'm not who I was then.
We're twenty-four now,
not nineteen.
I still believe in love.
I still believe in dreams.
I still believe that taking chances
Can bring the best unexpecteds
into your life.
And I regret parts of who I was
and who you were
five years later.

I'd like to know who you are now,
if you've changed,
And though I don't think we'll ever be
the right person in the right time
again,
A part of me will always belong
with a part of you.
And I'm glad.
-- 15 October, 2002

You still wear my ring
You still wear my ring.
It’s been five years
(or maybe more)
And I’ve traded yours in
for something else.
Not traded in.
Not moved up (moved on).
Maybe grown past who
you needed me to be.
We’ve both passed out of it,
that life.
I used to think
we could come back to it.
But that was five years ago,
and we were both young.
You still wear my ring,
the tangled knotwork that was
what we were to each other.
It meant endless,
and it meant forever,
but someone else put his ring
on my left hand.
And you still wear my ring.
-- 15 April, 2005