On this day of celebrating love, I hope you do something very, very nice for your sweet self. And for the people you love. I want to give you two presents. 1. My current favorite love poem (below) and 2. A playlist to soundtrack your day.
Love you. I mean it. XO, Meg.
It’s national Fall-Madly-In-Love-Day
and Lord-Have-Mercy-Week amongst devout believers everywhere.
The amorousness supplies are high!
You can tell by the lipstick on my ankles
I’ve decided to celebrate in style.
You can see from the milky look in my eyes
I think I’m ready for anything, and it’s true—
we are going to party all other holidays into submission.
We’ve got mountains of ticker tape
shredded from shitty insincere Valentines
and enough cantaloupe flavored jelly bellies
to pelt the Easter Bunny back
to the religious doubt factory it came from.
We’ve got a soundtrack of trust fall squeals to clink drinks to.
So why can’t I get you on the phone?
A new report by the Department of Miseries
claims 8 out of 10 broken hearts are crushed beyond repair.
It’s a tune you’ve been singing all week.
You are every cynic’s back up choir.
I know what the world did to you.
I know it’s easy to retreat behind the shields of graceful bitterness.
It is the hardest think in the world to tolerate being loved.
and being loved again, like tanning on the surface of the sun.
But you don’t know what I know.
That report didn’t take into account that
the most resilient parts of ourselves are hidden
in the bomb shelters of each other’s eyes.
It didn’t take into account the mounting evidence
that joy is an involuntary muscle.
It didn’t factor in that this has been the best apocalypse ever.
So I am submitting a counter-report.
I am submitting grandfather clocks, dozens of them.
locked in a dust-clouded room illuminated
with the ill romance of musty curtain light.
An old bent over clockmaker is winding
and freeing the pendulums at different times,
setting loose a klutzy tinkling that sounds like
pyramids of teacups perpetually buckling.
In only two days time the clocks will synchronize.
It’s a law of physics— vibratory frequencies in a closed system
seek the path of least resistance. Pendulums will sway in perfect time
and you would never see the thousand lazy changes it took.
just the sudden satisfying lock step.
Everything wants to be bound to everything else.
Lightning charges someone’s porch swing night sky.
It leads to two hands clasping electrically
beneath a blanket that will someday smell like home.
Neurotransmitters leap like liquid fish from crystal bowls
so some kid can learn to play the guitar.
He will write the song that will call her back to you.
Our hearts are just muscle fisted clocks,
keeping their own time with this messy sentiment of drumming.
Even the broken ones. Even yours.
So today we will unlock the good chemistry cabinet.
We will make this world shine again
by installing kaleidoscopes in our peripheral vision.
We will assault this entire town with sweet ukulele jams
and beam medicated rainbows from our chests.
We spill out like gutted pirate treasure chests
like our sorrows had been rubies all along.
Trust will flood you like a baptism.
like a monsoon of yeses.
The magnets beneath my skin will draw the magnets beneath your skin
and we will power kiss on every bridge we can find.
We will reinvent osmosis.
It’s already happening—everyone is falling a little in love with everyone else.
We will get so foolish and boozy just knowing this.
We will be shameless, wasteful gazillionaires of lovin’, so flush with love
we will throw it all away and make more, and throw it all away again.
We will regret every second of it in the best possible way,
the way any God who has a thing for apples
must have intended it.
image by me.