To My Conundrum Lover/Friend (unsent)

Entirely unbeknownst to you,
I broke up with you on your birthday.
We’d been seeing each other for less than fourteen days
or for more than four months, if you look at it that way.

You had told me, Hold the love.
Let’s play it safe.

I forgot to tell you (months ago)
I don’t date people.
I love first and ask questions later.

What are new beginnings worth
when we curl up inside ourselves
projecting home movies against our eyelids
sliding each new lover into the role of another
who hurt us, however long ago

I searched for a safe present—
unsentimental: an answering machine
the ridiculousness of which
I can’t even calculate.
You laugh at me. But wait—

I started planning for your birthday four months ago.
The package would include finger paint and sidewalk chalk
a gift certificate to Good Vibrations and a walk on the moon
at least five long talks about revolution and relationships
at least five rides on sexual spaceships
but somewhere between July and November
I forgot how to love you.
I couldn’t remember whether you liked your heart half-full or half-empty
whether you preferred stories to end like Rapunzel or Humpty Dumpty.
Now all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
tell me maybe I shouldn’t hang around here again.
But I never could quite get the hint
and I’ve got a heart full of broken egg-shells
to prove that I meant it.

We spoke of the revolution.
I wanted the personal. You wanted the political
You said act now. I required rehearsal.

Some say that love poems are wasteful.
They reinforce the status quo.
They make people complacent and less likely
to overthrow the powers that be,
cuz they’re happy, you know?

But I want people to raise their hearts to their lovers’ lips.
I want them to smile and tell them to drink from it.

I want us to teach our children from the age of three
how to love safely, healthily
with an open heart and honest intentions
with good communication and without possession
but first how to love themselves unconditionally.

Anyone that says that love poems are wasteful
doesn’t understand that love has never been the law of the land.

It’s the year 2000 and we still beat our children.
It’s the second millennium and men still take their hands to women.

As far as I’m concerned,
every revolution begins with relationships
with hearts and hands and fingertips
everything comes down to relationships with people.
You take care of their houses and I’ll take care of their hearts.
I’ll cut the onions if you’ll peel the garlic.

I’m sorry about the answering machine.
Maybe it was a dumb idea.
Dumb ideas happen when lovers are driven by fear.
I’m afraid I don’t know whether to leave or to stay.
I don’t linger without tenderness.
I guess I just walked away.

You say Hold the love. Let’s play it safe.
But if you’d care to renegotiate,
I’ve picked up the sidewalk chalk, still searching for fingerpaint.
It’s possible that the gift certificate to Good Vibrations can wait
but the walk on the moon, I say let’s pack our bags now
and talk about revolution and relationships
as we work on how to fire up those five or ten spaceships
and raise our hearts to each other’s lips
and smile and kiss and drink from it.

—me