Hello readers, this is your poet speaking. I’m sure you remember my poem Is it Beginning? from earlier this month. I did another one- I really like this found poetry business.
This time, the song chose me weeks ago. Well, more like, the song leapt up from the depths of my memory, grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I know I’m not your typical 20-something product of my generation when I say that I totally dig Joni Mitchell. I mean, come on, she’s Canadian! Her song A Case of You is one of those songs that struck me like a Zeus-style lightning bolt. Kind of like Going to California by Led Zeppelin, come to think of it. Maybe I’ll try something with that next time.
I have digressed enough! Read on for poetry.
disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to any Joni Mitchell songs. This is a creative exercise, and I make no money from it.
I Drew a Map of Love
I could be your painter, darling;
I sketched the still darkness of you,
I drink the bitter and sweet deeds.
Cartoon lines drawn in blue light
Before my drink poured, she said
I would part with you, and bleed.
I’m a lonely woman; you drew me in,
But had me stay in a box apart
From your life: oh, where’s our time?
I knew your mouth twice:
You taste like blood and wine.
I remember in that bar
You said, “I ain’t afraid of the devil,”
With your face so bitter, and lost–
I’m frightened of that time.
If you want me, I’ll be
As constant as the northern star–
I’ll drink you, bitter and sweet.
You had just met me, you said,
“Love is touching souls.”
Surely in my case, in my blood,
I’d be prepared if I touched yours,
So holy, so bitter, and so sweet.
I’d like it if you knew mine.
© Bridget Noonan, 2012.
Also, I feel I must add another disclaimer: I have been in lust a couple times, had some crushes, and I read a lot, but I have never been in love. I remain hopeful that it’ll happen some time. That passionate, delightful, being-with-you-feels-like-home, you-make-me-want-to-be-a-better-person, I-hope-we-get-old-and-grey-together-so-we-can-mock-each-other-at-the-retirement-home, snuggles-and-sex-are-only-awesome-with-you, blissful, if-you’re-not-beside-me-I-don’t-sleep-well, all-consuming deal. Or something like that.
Though I maintain that there’s a different kind of love for every person that we love. We can call it platonic, romantic, familial, or whatever, but it is subtly different every time. Like fingerprints, or lip prints, or the flecks of colour in a person’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just me.
…I am a soppy ridiculous romantic. I don’t know how or when that happened. Must have been right around the time I started writing poetry.