12 Noon. Poem 10.

What is Love?

Love is a list poem.
Love is my children
and grandchildren,
my Lucy Watusi Kitty,
all the bills paid,
and a little left over.

Love is gratitude 
and meditating cross legged
on my big, old, soft bed.

Love is books!
All my books!
All the books!

Love is guiltless
personal boundaries
really good dark chocolate
orange toenail color
feral chickens roosting
right outside my bedroom window.

Love is
the gurgle speak of Iao Stream
chit chatting down to the ocean.

Love is autonomy
and nonjudgment
and cherry chapstick…

but, that doesn’t make much sense.

All these things are things I love
not what love is.

So, what is love?

Love is letting things and beings
be who and what they are as long as they aren’t hurting anyone else in their process…

Yeah, that’s what love is.
Not very poetic, though.

Let’s try again…

Love is the ache
in my ancient cells
for crows and trains
and Mom and Dad.

Love is
the desparate hollow of my arms
where my grandbabies slept before the blast and scatter.

Love is hope
that I will know those things
again someday.

Love is hope.

Yes… love is hope.
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