This Is About Love, Not the Weather

I’m disconcerted. The season changed today. That abruptly. Yesterday it was over 90 degrees here. This morning at 6:30, the sun hadn’t dawned yet. Autumn happened overnight.

This has been the strangest season. The weather was odd, cooler than usual. The roses bloomed all spring and summer long, not taking their customary July and August break. The dahlias don’t know what to do. Every single one of the two-year-olds looks like crap. Only the hardiest of old faithfuls thrived. I made a choice back in June: Not once did I fertilize. “You’re fending for yourselves,” I told them. “Do your best.”

I’m a competitive gardener. I tend flowers carefully so I can enter them in the regional fair each year. This year, when I looked at the entry forms in June, I had a strong premonition, precognition, intuition—it told me to take a break. My mother started dying during the 10-day fair.

I’m thankful that I have flowers at all.

Today I’m hopping on the Totalfeckineegit’s Poetry Bus (go here for the tour). Our task is weddings, not the weather. Yesterday I edited my entire manuscript of poems and discovered not one sweet love poem in it, although there is a sexy poem about the weather.

So I wrote a poem suitable for speaking at a wedding, if it were my wedding and not your wedding.


Without End


I don’t love you
as your dog loves you
with mindless devotion
I love you
with every firing synapse
relishing your humanity
aware of my own

I don’t love you
as your daughter loves you
with blinding need
I love you
with passion on purpose
and I choose you
with eyes wide open

I don’t love you
as your mother loves you
with future hopes
I love you
with a blend of flesh
and mystical not-flesh
exactly as you are.

I love you
with the ferocity of lions
with the immensity of space
My love for you
is immeasurable
forever, amen.