I wrote this almost three years ago as I was contemplating an astonishing possibility: that I might have met a man who was The Real Deal; I was also thinking about four women friends and their struggles to find meaningful relationships and to deal with the aftermath of relationships that did not last. Two of them are veterans, and two are active military.
Standing by the side of the road
Okay, guy, I have been thinking, what if I finally
show up on your radar screen as a
really huge,
huge,
massively huge,
significant
blip,
and you say, “Sorry, I’m going to have to
blow you up, there’s a highway
named after me going through”?
I’m not hiding in a bunker anymore.
If you say no, I’ll have to take it full-on,
and it will hurt like damn-all.
But I understand, as I have not before,
that I will not die.
My brain and my heart will slam around inside of me for some time.
But of course, afterward,
I will still be able to walk and talk,
laugh and love.
Because I do not derive my life from you.
I derive a slap on the leg and a laugh
when I fall down backward
because my pack is too heavy.
Brisk breezes and cold beer on hot days.
A fully charged flashlight on dark, moonless nights.
An arm around my shoulder when beautiful,
fragile, loved things collapse
under life’s sniper fire.
But my life, and its ability to grow and bloom
in whatever circumstances,
comes from elsewhere.
I take my orders from elsewhere.
My orders are to stand, live, and
love, no matter what.
If I did not have to obey those orders,
I would not be standing exposed
on this dusty highway,
waiting for you to arrive.
I would be hiding in a bunker with my rifle,
sweating bullets, dying from self-inflicted wounds.
The sun is baking my hair, my face,
but I smell the coolness of an oasis spring.
Advance, O king. I have a basket of dates for you,
and I have a jug of wine.
If you choose to pass on to the dunes without me
and be lost out in the shifting white landscape,
So be it.
I will still.
Will.
Still.
Stand.
Live.
And love.
11-27-2012
only want a couple of things 