Falling asleep to your voice, I sign the symbol for infinity
with my pointer finger along my hip bone.
When someone tells me they love me
I am no longer surprised. Of course
I love them back.
Love being a motionless word— a feather in a birdbath.
“I love you”
is not a debate between petals.
A bloom is no longer a legislature,
a heart no longer a gavel
but a vase.
I made mine with clay and when it came out of the kiln
it was so full I forewent flowers.
by Rena Medow, from I Have Been Packing this Suitcase All My Life, So Why is it Empty?
