"Measure" is a poem about my true love, Mario, and an event that actually happened.
|At the Cairo Hospital...looking at my true love.|
couples choose to measure love
restaurant with candle-light and violins!”
“...a two-carat diamond!"
Measures of love, compared and pitted,
spurred talons sharpened,
I don't want to play,
not after a messy incident, when I ordered
Maine lobster at market price.
He doesn't do diamonds, not after seeing the mines.
and says he's "not gonna fall for that
overpriced crap that'll be dead in a week,"
and he really means it.
His idea of a roaring fire is at the end
of a good cigar.
But, he puts the seat down,
replaces light bulbs,
all my dead weight, as I
tried to act normal, plodding
up stairs in Cairo—uneven stone
with candy wrappers. Women in black
too afraid? too wise? did they think I was cursed?
leaning away from my shadow as we passed, and his
would stay, no water in my eyes
or my body. It took everything I
his one hand clasped over mine,
and when I cried, the women hid
their faces. We had to (could we?)
a few more steps…” And it was one up, and
two up. Neither one of us had ever been to
his head and didn't feel sorry for me. And
just like he said it would be.
The strength of his arms and his whispers.
When the self is a weak, bleeding, staggering
thing, and the world is a bleak place with
long, stony paths, all uneven, he steadies me.
Even more, he believes I can do it and tells me,
and I get there with him, one step at a time.
He knows my pain and walks beside me
On steps like these,
too weak and bloodless
and expects nothing. He never leaves.
This is the measure of my true love’s heart.