Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

Although my Poetry to a Transvestite Prostitute Project is now complete, I am not done with the poetry, nor the love. It may be a short month, but February ain’t over yet. For all of you wishing I would stop with the smoochy-smoochy-love-fluff stuff already, know that March is just around the corner, and it will be All Business.

But until then, I’m still operating within the confines of the The Love Project, even if all of the Valentine’s Day paraphernalia has been appropriately removed from store windows. With no further ado, I present a Poet I love, a Palliative I love, and a Place I love (mixing the three together comes highly recommended…)

Poet:
“The heart uselessly opens
To 3 words, which is too little”
George Oppen

Palliative:
Woodford Reserve

Place:
Portsmouth Square on a cold sunny Wednesday (narrative):

I want someone with thin, intelligent wrists. I want him to own hands nimble and sure; that look like they’re capable of taking risks, capable of telling stories.

I love watching them. I love it when they squat, sit light and deep in their haunches. It makes me want to sit deeply, too, makes me want give up ferocious legs untamed for a sturdier stance. The men play Go in the Chinatown park, shifting like sea kelp from game to game. One man in particular, about 65 years, plays with such deliberate hand it shakes me, makes me feel cold with youth. He is losing — has lost every game he played since I started watching 2 hours ago –- but he plays with such confidence, moves each marble piece with a bittersweet smile that comes only from a reconciliation, a negotiation, with loss; it is a wisdom beyond acceptance, such that he has come to revel in — prefer it, even. He knows that even the losing feels good.

And with that, I’m ready to fall in love again.

§140 · February 22, 2006 · Love Project, Narrative · · [Print]

1 Comment to “3PsIHeart”

  1. marc says:

    Rock on, you wonderful, incurably romantic angel!

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