6
" To Have Without Holding:
Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.
It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.
It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch, to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.
I can't do it, you say it's killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor's buttons blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced. "
― Marge Piercy
7
" I cook better than you," Nick corrected absently. " I think monkeys can probably be taught to cook better than you." " I'd like to have a monkey that cooked for me," said Jamie. " I would pay him in bananas. His name would be Alphonse." " I agree, that would be awesome." Mae said. " People would come for dinner just to see the monkey chef." " You're raving," Nick said, defrosting chicken in the microwave. Mae was a bit impressed with how he seemed to look at the appliance and instantly comprehend its mysteries, when she'd been heating up ready-made meals for years by a method of pressing random buttons and hoping. " I know that's the only way Jamie communicates with people, but I expected better of you, Mavis." " We're cutting out the whole Mavis thing right now, Nick," Mae said warningly." How many bananas would be good payment for a monkey?" Jamie wanted to know. " I would want to pay Alphonse a fair wage. "
8
" Forgive me, madam," he said lightly, amused, " but waiting to make love to you again is straining my nerves." She scoffed but she was quite shaken; he could see it in her expression, in the way she nervously toyed with the buttons on her pelisse." How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you." " You will," he insisted soothingly.She gaped at him." Please continue," he urged. " I'm aching to hear the rest." " You're as arrogant as usual." " You missed it, though." " I absolutely did not," she asserted.He grinned. " You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one." " That's absurd." " I love you, Caroline," he softly, quickly replied, catching her off guard with such tenderness. " Move on before I decide I'm finished with this conversation, rip off your clothes, and show you how much. "
10
" In the years that I could not see him, I came to know my father through the medium of photography. My perceptions of him were forged on black-and-white squares that stole an instant out of history and immortalized it between the pages of a family album. When I summoned up the image of the man, it came to me frozen, black-bordered, flat. He stood pale above the creases of his uniform, framed in the foamy wake of some ship, drops of sunlight caught in the buttons on his jacket. He winked at me from the liberty ports of countless exotic places. In an atrocious hand he scrawled stilted, affectionate words to the stranger that bore his name and his features, telling of adventures far away, misbehavings under suns hotter than that which shone over the Greater German Reich. "
― Miles Watson , Shadows and Glory
11
" I am not a machine. For what can a machine know of the smell of wet grass in the morning, or the sound of a crying baby? I am the feeling of the warm sun against my skin; I am the sensation of a cool wave breaking over me. I am the places I have never seen, yet imagine when my eyes are closed. I am the taste of another's breath, the color of her hair.
You mock me for the shortness of my life span, but it is this very fear of dying which breathes life into me. I am the thinker who thinks of thought. I am curiosity, I am reason, I am love, and I am hatred. I am indifference. I am the son of a father, who in turn was a father’s son. I am the reason my mother laughed and the reason my mother cried. I am wonder and I am wondrous. Yes, the world may push your buttons as it passes through your circuitry. But the world does not pass through me. It lingers. I am in it and it is in me. I am the means by which the universe has come to know itself. I am the thing no machine can ever make. I am meaning. "
― Bernard Beckett , Genesis
16
" From my new WIP, Behind the Fan.
“Come with me.” His breath is warm; his lips lightly touch her ear, it gives her a delicious tingle. This seduction is no accident.
“Baby we can be anywhere, we will start new. Dottie, all I need is you.”
She opens her eyes, he turns when he feels the flutter of her lashes. She expects another plea instead; he kisses her. Soft and slow his lips pulling her down deeper into a sweet chasm. This assault on her proprieties will be slow and subdued. He has after all proven that he is a patient man. Those musicians’ finger will trail on the column of her neck first. The touch is warm, soft nevertheless deliberate. Do the top buttons of her blouse come undone on their own accord or has he banished them? She is never sure but before she can register the affect, he lightly strokes the swell of her breast. It is sinful; no matter how often she confesses her weakness to the priest, she is never stronger. Her body willingly betrays her; she will roam her hands down his back, beyond the tapered waist to the hard orbs of his backside. She herself is no innocent, she revels in his plead for more. She is going to hell she wished she cared for her soul.
“Honey leap with me, we will land safely I promise you.”
“Oh God, Nicky you know it is never this simple.”
Nick leans back enough to look into her eyes; she feels he can see damn near to her soul. She prays he will stay but knows her appeal is futile. He feels colder already, it does not matter how she tries to hold on he is already leaving. Leaving her behind. "
― Caroline Walken