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In the Book of Love
When I was a girl I thought that I’d love someone forever, one person, and our love would be stronger than rock. I believed that love conquers all and when I was a girl, I believed in soul-mates, destiny, and fate. I believed in love after death even though some say no:
Freud says “the unconscious.”
Lacan says “the mirror”
Cixous says “just laugh”
Woolf says “a room of one’s own,”
Bronte says “reader, I married him.”
Lawrence was a perv.
Still, I read Wharton and I wanted that crash for Ethan and Mattie. I read Fitzgerald and I wanted those orbed-lanterns to never dim low. When I was a girl, I believed in passion and truth and I believed if I opened my heart like an old fashioned map of the world, love would navigate and steer because as a child I believed in the heart and the way that love is circulatory despite: perils, crises and death; and as a child I felt love was the steed I would ride out of the suburb and into the book of love where I fed and bathed and made myself this life.
(c) Umansky 2009
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The Ride
It sounded old; and if a stranger could
Just before dark,
Love. A given: no one mentioned.
He couldn’t see you honey you, honey you.
Doing it to us all; us all.
What else but love? It sounded old.
The best years got in its way.
Nothing in the world.
To be a woman; them old hearts.
Can’t own; can’t lose. Can’t have to be.
Love, love, love. Love’s
Going to kill you, honey.
No one mentioned. Love.
Crawled, glittered.
Ride it, ride it dark
(c) Umansky 2009
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