“What matters in life is not what happens to you, but what you remember and how you remember it to tell the tale.” ~ Gabriel García Márquez
You hid behind Sweet Dreams
and a smuggled Desire, waiting
for hearts to tempt into wanting.
My eyes often noticed your face,
but my mind couldn’t see you—
I was too young (for the world)
and you were all wrong for me.
…once upon a summery night,
while exhausted and not thinking
right, I touched your Solitude…
The length of it startled all I was.
One Hundred Years all alone?
I thought, took, read you mine.
I’ve kept you close ever since,
always loving you
in word and ink, learning wild
desires and real sweet dreams.
You’ll never be lonely, my love,
words of you dance on my tongue,
feeding old blood into new ink.
You are loved.
the wee notes…
– I read One Hundred Years of Solitude before I was a teenager. The book and I met at a beauty salon my mother frequented. The beautician had a rack full of serialized romance novels (Sweet Dreams, Silhouette, Desire) and enough out-of-date magazines to paper the Great Wall of China and thirteen midsize castles with very small windows.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, and to Poets United.
detail from the cover of
Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude
(Ilustraciones de Fabelo edition)