Poem: Wrestling with Love

The rug was a rink
in front of the fire,
its design hooked
in roses
and thorns;
each to a corner
fringed on desire,
hearts ready to fight
in poses
and throws.

The match was a show
of how they did play,
rolling and rolling
then pausing
to part;
back to their places
for rules to obey,
one not the other
fostering
the pact.

A blow from behind
turns trust on its head,
perverting the game
to cheating
for fun;
forgiveness is hard
her faith all but dead,
hope losing hope of
defeating
its fate.

Time is the stealer
of heartaches to face,
prospects laid to dust
in roses
and thorns;
more and less fondness
alive in each case,
the show going on
that closes
this thought.

 

Writing note: This poem was inspired by two cats I brought from England in 1990. They were a year apart and cousins. They are, of course, long gone…but, equally of course, not forgotten. The younger gray one, Sophie, was very carefree as a kitten but grew into a self-centered even schizophrenic creature (she never forgave me for putting her on a plane). On the other hand, Heidi, the black and white one, was the loveliest most balanced spirit I’ve ever known, a soulmate for sure, my best friend and protector through difficult times (no doubt the trip from England to the US was traumatic for her too, but when she looked around her new home and saw my mom and me that was all she needed–home was truly where her heart was!). 

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