Love Poem Written in November

by Justine C. Tajonera

In mute sadness
I embrace the shadows
and imagine your form.
Letting the cicadas
mimic your whispers
and watching the
starless skies that
hover above us.
I wait for your words
to come back to me
in the silent currents
of deep evening.
But I do not wait
as though for rain
because I know
you are inside me.

In the stillness of
my darkened room
you are born from
my mouth
as I breathe,
from my hands
as I write,
and as I lay down
in my bed, I know
it is your dream
that I dream.

Nov. 1, 1994

Someone once told me that you must write down whatever it is that needs to be written down because you will never write it the same way again. Memory is tainted by whatever view one has at the present. That's why I wrote down the poem, above, as it was written sixteen years ago. While it may sound trite or awkward to trained ears, nothing will replace the passion, the earnestness and the utter belief behind the writing. The person who wrote this is far from who I am today, but her concerns and her preoccupations remain relevant. Why do we never run out of love poems, after all?

Image of a cicada shell from http://www.flickr.com/photos/benimoto/1057086898/