Of course, we all fumble at first,
doofing up out of our childhood like baby turtles.
There it is, all at once,
the Sea of Love,
and we scramble for it, driven by
instinct
movies
pop songs
and our own bodies bolting away with us.
But that's kid stuff.
At some point we think we've got it,
that we've become some sort of love boffin
smug in the sugar bowl of partnered mid-life.
Look! No hands!
Up on the two-wheeler and thinking NASA needs us.
Oh, little turtle, little turtle rules the waves.
Hang your heart on the sawtooth coat hook a few times
and all that changes.
You find out you married a Matryoshka,
a total stranger.
Big and slow, you're back out there among the hatchlings,
drinking too much
doing stupid things to your hair,
fumbling again, tangled in the seaweed,
wishing you were dead.
Oh little boffin, doofing up out of Love's trash can,
now you know how much you never knew.
What was it all for?
You'll find the answer to that when your own grown child
sits crying at the kitchen table, saying mom it hurts so much.
You'll reach out, try to wick away their pain, and helplessly say,
I know,
honey,
I know.
_______
for Sunday Muse #241.
Music: Tom Waits Sea of Love
