Do you blush? Maybe you’re one of those cool and collected types. Actually, I’m usually one of those types, except when my “personal life” comes up. In those cases, I am the most bashful of them all. I couldn’t actually tell you what colour I turn, but beet red sounds like an accurate description, as all the blood in my body rushes to my face.
I brought a love poem to share with my poetry group this week. As lunch started, I found myself goring increasingly nervous and regretting that I’d cheekily subtitled the poem “Yes, this is a love poem.” (One of my friends in that group is constantly accusing my poetry of being about love. No. It’s about birds.) When that time came–“Did anyone bring anything?” I reluctantly admitted I had…and started blushing.
“Uh, it’s a poem I wrote for Valentine’s Day, so it’s kind of embarrassing,” I said. (I mean, who wouldn’t bare her heart in gratitude for a bouquet that perfectly colour coordinates with her red and green themed living room?) I promised that if my face returned to the more pallid end of the pinkness spectrum, I would share. At some point I steeled myself–blushingly–and distributed the poem. If I could manage that, then I can handle sharing one with you, dear reader.
Oh, and yes, this is a love poem.
Your name is a lamp
for the flame of my tongue
and to call out to you
through the dark
through the lacework
I wonder, did the saint
of the alphabet
know the brightness you would be
when he invented the
and smile-capped conclusion
of your name
Sing it or say it, you make me
live every day
I didn’t know you were in a poetry group. I also want to tease you over your love poem, buuuuuuuut I think I love it too much. Haha.