While sitting down to work, I see the thin
spine of a paperback called “It’s So Hard
to Love You.” Waiting’s hard, and driving cars
on icy roads is hard, and losing skin.
Or filing taxes. Calmly walking in
a room where men are fighting. Swimming far
through four foot waves. Or dropping what we are
so sure of. Vomiting up shots of gin.
But loving? Loving’s not so hard. It’s what
comes easiest. You’ve seen the way the grass
bends with the breeze? How ferns unfurl? Like love.
It’s all the shoulds we put on love that cut
and burn and roughen us. Ferns never ask
for more. Grass never tells the wind, enough.