A Meeting of Straying Minds
Love is knowing (sort of)
that when I, the vegetarian for many years, grow even more
decrepit, forgetful, blind,
you, who have never
truly understood beans,
will not feed me meat.
It’s a pact that I’ve repeatedly
extracted—”you promise,” I say, nearly
tearful, and you reply, blushingly, yes, no,
of course not, so I’m pretty clear
that even as you too grow old, you will not
slop me into a chair with your extra chop
at my chin–
But what worries suddenly
is me:
that, after decades of non-carnivorous cravings,
I will slaver, in my senility, for
a sliver of your sirloin.
At first, you will saw the cuts with resistance, your elbow
blocking my claw, but, as I whimper, you just might,
in some trumped-up trompe mind’s l’oeil,
excuse the bloody bits as for my good, a poor
woman’s Procrit,
and, careful to whittle away all
gristle, spoon some down my craw.
On the one hand, this a problem in
our love – that you give in to me–and on the other
hand, this is a problem in our love–that you never do
as I ask–and on the third and fourth hands–because thankfully
we have them (clasped), this is also our great
wonder– that you, who try always for the meet and
right, no matter, will be there with me, even
demented,
promoting your sometimes skewed
but always sweetened sense
of my true needs, even if they involve
my grazing from your plate
(something you absolutely hate
in anyone else.)
Though I wonder now whether I shouldn’t get the words
“do not feed meat” tattooed–only they would have to letter
my forehead—(I can’t imagine,
as we recede, you reading below my sleeve)–
and I worry that, with such a phrase emblazoned, people
might feel that they also should keep me from knives–
And there can be so very many lives
in a single life–take the one you lent me when
my old had emptied—
that it is perhaps better to keep vows off
of one’s brow, even those
about meeting someone more
than half-way, the way you meet
me, though that line admittedly
shifts sometimes, while somehow our hearts
stay always
in the exact right place.
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The above is for Valentine’s Day! After all my fatigue — vegetarians recover quickly–I am linking this to dVerse Poets Pub prompt Form For All, hosted by Gay Reiser Cannon (about the poetic tool box), and With Real Toads prompt hosted by Susan (about love)
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