Valentines day poems

 I came across our satchel back in April. I had to go to Washington to see what kinds of damage were done to my storage unit. It was impacted by smoke and soot, that much the manager of the lot let me know. That I didn't lose all my goods to an arson fire was miraculous. Only one unit separated me from total loss.

As it were, I lost quite a bit to smoke damage. Over and over again, as I rifled through boxes and such, I  found that much of what I stored away years ago had been lost not only to ravages of the fire, but to mildew, time and negligence. I knew when I popped open the door, the first time in over 10 years, that I was in for less of a surprise than a reawakening, one that thrust me right back into that Kitsap house that I had to abandon so many years before.

I found many treasures, including family photos, toy soldiers, records and art. Books were on the most part unsalvageable, expect to folks I would deem to be deeply biblioholic,

And yet, there on the floor, under a table and other pieces of flotsam, I found the bag. Years ago when I switched up units, I changed the container of our words, from a solid wooden box to a canvas bag, something I picked up at a conference. It was smoky smelling, and reeked of mildew, but it was whole.

I took the bag back to my hotel room and opened it briefly. I saw one photo, one that had been torn in half that night I attacked and dismembered our words and pictures. But even in the midst of my madness I made sure that I didn't mar the image of your face. I looked hard at the photo, put it back in the folder in the bag, zipped it up and hugged it for a long while.

I mention all this because I made for you a little arts and crafts kind of memento for Valentines Day. It contained four poems and images culled from the net, all bound in a colorful package of construction paper, ribbon and love. I only had the courage to read those words once I got home. I was overwhelmed once again, but this time the tears flowed.

I shared those poems with an artist friend of mine, who is a poet in his own right and who participates in classes and public readings on a regular basis. He has been asking me to read poems and I told him back when he started to pester me about it that while I once wrote poems fairly regularly, I didn't anymore.

But when I brought the satchel by his house, to let him and his wife read my words to you, I made it clear that I thought my time of words, lovingly penned and put into poetry, were behind me because, well, I wrote love poems to you and that seemed to be the end of it.

I did write one more, sometime in the year 2013, to my new paramour on the coast. She, too, said "no one has ever written me a poem before". That was the last time. What is wrong with this world, that men, the ones that came before me, the ones thought to be serious, could not put a few words together for that woman?

So, I could rest. My friend witnessed my words, and thought so well of them that he wished for me to read them at the next poet gathering. I thought that I would but then, since he backed out of this months reading, I decided that, no, those words were ours, not made for public consumption. That I shared them with him was a sort of a breach of trust, and I felt that, afterwards, that I would just let it be. I needed yet another witness to our love, one that, even after all these years and miles apart, is still strong in my heart.

Miss you, much love,

Your WHMB

Wishing you well

 Back in 2007 I was at my mom's house. She had just passed away a week or so before and I was there to start the process of pulling together all the last duties and obligations that the oldest son is supposed to handle. I was sorting through photos that I had found in her dining room hutch when the phone rang. I can't remember now whether the device was on the kitchen counter or the dining room table, but I was not in a position to grab it so I let it ring through, let it go to voice mail.

I got up a bit later, dazed as a person might be after going through years of photographic memory. I glanced at the phone and saw that the call that had come in had a Washington phone number. Not being familiar with the number I saw that the caller left a message. I dialed in the access code and put the phone to my ear. What came next was something that I never expected to hear again.

Your voice.

"Hello". That much I remember clearly. What came afterwards? That much I do my best to replay in my mind. I am sure that you didn't insert yourself more into the rest of the message but for certain you did say "wishing you on the 27th day of August". Did you say "I am calling to wish you well.." or "here's to wishing you well"? Do those nuances matter? I scrambled at that moment, once I heard your voice, to find you on the other end. I dialed and found out that the phone number was attached to the library in Bremerton, at the branch we once worked at together. The phone rang through and you were long gone.

It was the last time you ever left a message for me.

I may not have the exact words you said to me in any kind of correct manner, but I play the semblance of them in my head every year on the day. You, my old love, my Professora, my Empress of the Universe, are long gone but as for loving you? Well, no matter who comes through my life, no matter who else may color my world or fill up my heart, I will love you always. Be well, M.

Love, your WHMB

Weary, waiting, asking for forgiveness

My dearest Professora, how I wish to hold your face in my hands, to be able to embrace you in a state of joy and bliss once again. I am here in Southern Oregon, at the end of my own Applegate trail. I came overland from Colorado, the land of your birth. I walked the lands that you walked, saw the sights that you 3might of once seen. I courted a woman who, I saw in my heart, wished to be redeemed and in my own turn, I wished to be loved, wished for her to be like you. I brought into our lives all the things we once shared and none took us to those old places. Or rather, when I saw that she wasn't you, I shelved them. She did ask, once or twice, where the book club went to, or how come we put up the backgammon board, or why I didn't write about us any more on Accumulate Man.

Because. She. Wasn't. You.

In her own way she was a muse, but one in reverse. Instead of being the library muse that inspired me to greatness and was proud of my achievements, she ended up being peevish and petty about the gains I made. Instead of us having to dodge a standoffish and less than attentive partner, I had to deal face to face with a crazed man who was over the top about not letting go. Instead of holding down a home tghat I loved I found it impossible to stay and love the woman in place at the same time. We had no choice but to leave and where of all places did we land but Colorado. It could have been worse, we almost ended up in Seattle. 

So, I found that no matter what I did I could not cajole or please or help make do something that was never meant to be. I found that my family and friends were not valued,  not in the same way that hers were. I discovered that my mind and work and treasures were not really well thought as much as tolerated. Instead of loving each other in a day to day fashion, I found myself fighting a rear guard action for years, all the time saying, yes, this can work, yes, we can make this happen. All I wanted was a shared emotional connection. All I wished for was a small lot of euphoria.

I left to the coast again, this time to be a children's librarian in a town that I lived in 30 years before. But in all truth, I left to save first myself, the relationship and my career second. I came here to little town because I was exhausted emotionally. That is what happens when you deal with vampires and con artists, thieves and pretenders. They take all and give nothing back. They fill their own empty souls with the light that others share so willingly, so happily, given without pretense or guile. I landed here, took on a small space with the idea that it was temporary. Yet, here I am, in the same little space, two years later. Thank god.

I found that what I need now is not too much different than what I have always needed, and that is an emotional kind of loyalty, one that is rare, but not impossible to find. I always felt that we shared was that kind of connection and that is why, I suppose, I keep looking for it, thinking that if I am lucky, I can find it again. I needed to know, and have figured out, that what we shared was unique and can never be duplicated. There may be another kind of love that might possibly sustain me, but I need time to finally rest and see what it was exactly that we shared, so I can let that one rest and be appreciated, before I can finally see fit to let it go.

What I have discovered, among other things, is that I am demisexual. That is, I can't love unless there is some kind of emotional connection going on. I suppose, after all those years of doling out unconditional love to my kids, that when we found each other, when we clicked from the start, that love was not even there at the top of the list of things that I wanted to share with you. We were fun from the start. We liked each other and fell into love, the way that puppies fall into each other in a bed on their way to sleep. 

Now, I just want more than anything, than to ask for your forgiveness. I wish for an understanding and a sort of friendship that comes from time spent behind the bars of a rough kind of travel, the kind where the boots get stolen off your feet and you have to walk miles in the brambles just to get to a place where there is a sign that tells you how many more miles you have to go before you sleep.

Yes, I want your forgiveness. M. I want you to know how much I am saddened by the cost of our love and how much I am sorry for bringing so much grief into your life. I know how much my love for you cost us. It cost me plenty and I have no regrets. But I am sorry for whatever sorrow I brought into your life. We paid a heavy price for our love. You paid a different kind of penance than I. But I never asked before for forgiveness. I was unrepentant for years, never cared how high the price was for what we shared. Now I am, only because I know, from gathering my grief all in one place, that it has been a heavy load to carry. I want to set it down now and love you, from here on out, in a way that I never knew was possible. Unconditional, selfless, joyful, without gain and without the glory that those who have been by your side get to reap.

I am tired but I am once again resting in the shade of happiness. I have been learning to love myself and deal with my newfound identity. I am weary but learning to laugh again, in a meaningful kind of way. When we loved back in the day it was real, but man oh man, can we wish it to be even more so? I wonder and yes, wish, just to see you, to see you smile again. I know that you are smiling, I see it in your photos. Continue to walk in the light of a life well lived, my dear. You deserve it.

Love,

Your WHMB

Girl + Friend

Looking back on those years, especially when I look at them from this perspective, from the years that it took me to get from there to here, I see a person who, when all is said and done, was truly cringeworthy. Who was that guy? What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he set himself on fire, time after time, even when the fire department demanded that he stop screwing around like that?

When I think of the losses at the time, the ones unavoidable, the others self inflicted, all I feel is a kind of pity, the kind you save and dole out for the mad, the helpless, the hapless. I am glad that I had a strong taste for living, but I am sorry that I had such a heavy streak of poor and self destructive behavior in me, the kind that alienated you and totally perplexed the rest of the world, the employers, family and friends who watched me drive my ship directly onto the rocks. No matter who or what was there to tell me otherwise, I purposely drove those fragile and heartbroken timbers into the abyss again and again. It was exhausting to witness and super sad to live out, to endure.

I have no idea what it was that we shared that made that kind of mindset possible. As the Detective once said to me on the phone, "please stop writing to her. When you do all it does is make her sad". For years I never really got that, that my words, that my actions, that my endless pillorying just brought you pain, not enlightenment, not joy learning about my times and the places where I landed. I always thought that making those efforts to stay close would help to keep us together, instead, all it did was to drive us further apart.

The losses that I suffered through back in those days have finally settled out, to heal, to make sense. I ended up making my mark in the profession, became the director that we both knew I could be. I learned to make peace with the ex-wife, the one that you wished for me to return to. I finally understood what you meant when you said to be "brave like me". Since those days I put my heart out there, did my best to change how I looked at love, did my best to rescue folks in need and, in the end, went forward, moved on, in order to be brave enough to save myself from a toxic and uncommitted love affair.

I have spent the past two years in a sort of forced isolation. Covid and all it's social restrictions have helped. I have stepped away from dating and relationships, after a few attempts to see if I was up to it. I know that what I've needed for a long time has been a great deal of time devoted to self reflection, rest and a kind of recuperation that only comes when you can embrace your past, come to terms with it, forgive others, forgive and love yourself. I have no idea when I finally got that I need it but I did.

When I think of our times these days I feel blessed for what they were and what they represented to me. When I think of you I will always think of you as my friend, as this person who came into my life when life seemed to be drained out of me. You and your gifts of love, laughter and joy helped to restore me. I think of the simple things we shared, board games, birding, cooking, and know now that they existed in the land of stolen moments but I was beyond thankful for them. They continue to restore me to this day.

Looking back, I have to wonder if, knowing what I know now, would I have continued down the same path after we diverged. Should I ended that long love siege earlier on when I could have salvaged my life? Did I do right by my kids by having that strange set of standards that enforced that tragic kind of love between me and the ex wife? What did it all mean, to stubbornly hold onto you but to lose damn near everything else that mattered to me, to the family, to those that thought well of me, that cared?

Time was been a tough master, a hard nosed teacher. I am here, on my own, here in this little town of Talent, slowly coming to terms with life as I know it. Semi-retired, living a sort of on the edge of life kind of life, not too much different, I would say, than the life you saw me living ages ago. But now, instead of anguishing over my kids and worrying about the effects that support payments would have on me, I find myself at peace, or more, the kind of peace that the weary find themselves giving themselves over to. The kids are grown or mostly there and are living their lives in Boise while life continues to spin it's sweet secrets all around me. Yes, life is a mystery right now. I am figuring out where I am in the midst of it, doing my best to figure out what I am and what I want to do with these things I keep finding out about myself.

But you, you are a distant and dear friend, never mind that we haven't spoken to each other since 2010. You are the woman pal that I always wanted and needed, my dear Professora, Empress of my Heart. You still are the best of me and of my times, spiritually and in reserve, as you are and have chosen to be. No matter. I love you all the same, girlfriend. Be strong. Be you.

Love,

Your WHMB

You've been on my mind, love

I went for a number of years not writing to you here, spent years on the road apart, did my best to make distance between you and me and yet all I did, as the years and miles passed, was to bring you closer to me than you've ever been before.

Certainly, I can keep up with you thanks to social media, and yes, I break that vow of silence by dropping messages here and there onto your account, but I never push anything. I never declare anything, never do anything to be considered a pest. But I do reach out, let you know that I am here, that you are there, and that is that. Nothing much more can be done than that.

But our children grow and the life that we wished for is, or may, be a lot different than the one we envisioned for ourselves back then. For instance, here I am on a Sunday morning, jazz playing in the background, grains and fruit soaking, the day ahead of me. A walk is coming up, most certainly. Housework, oh yeah. Then I will settle down into cooking and messing about as I am solo and have no one to tell me what to do with the day or inversely, no one to share it with. I am not lonely, but I do miss folks. And it goes without saying, I do miss you.

Years ago, when I was on the coast running a branch library, I set aside in a manila envelope that I stuffed with local travel items, tourist brochures, that I wished to send along to you. I never did as I was restricted from doing so, but more, I was distracted by my thoughts and actions. I brought someone into my life and immediately did my best to resurrect our lives, our pastimes, our emotive, day to day, kind of well being, with her. But instead it turned into something else entirely. My emotional commitment to that relationship helped to make it palatable, emotional commitment something that I need to do in order to help that relationship find its way to love. But that love, whatever good it did to me, was always reflective of and in honor of, the kind of love we shared. It did its best to achieve that level of shared joy but was never ever really able to get there. She wasn't you, my dear, and no matter how how hard I tried, board games, book clubs and cooking via cookbook recipes was not going to bring about a relationship like the one we shared together.

Years into that go round I landed in Colorado, right down the way from where you grew up. I walked those streets, saw your home, enjoyed the little downtown where your pop had his shop. I never felt closer to you than I did there in Colorado, not since the day we parted n Port Orchard. Loveland, Colorado was for me the best of you. I finally got you, saw you, saw how and where your values came about and felt the sense of joy, life and familiar love that you always embraced. I got your stories, saw where your people landed and where you came from, where YOU, the wonderful woman that I loved so dearly, came from. I got you and in doing that, better understood us, understood the whys and must be's of our journey.

So, here I am, in Southern Oregon, mere miles down the road from you, but, for all the good it does me, you might as well be on the other side of the moon. But I am good with that. The years have served me well, have taught me much about life, about patience and reserve, about myself, and has had me truly get, learn a lot about who we were and what our relationship was all about. I appreciate you more than I every did before, girlfriend. You, no matter what you had to do in order to survive, to keep the peace, to maintain the status quo, you are still and will always be my favorite. In the here and now I can love you without measure and with a high degree of peace, knowing that this flame that still burns steady and bright in my heart, is a slow and warm kind of love, not the hot destructive thing it was when I had no idea what love, this kind of love, meant.

What kind, you might ask? The kind of love two friends experience when they are wrenched apart. Nothing more, nothing less.

Love, 

Your WHMB