A Poem for Valentine's Day

And why not?

This poem was part of a series that was commissioned for a novel by Margaret Thomson Davis. I was asked to write a series of poems that charted the emotional and sexual growth of a young female art student. Poems that could be thread through the novel like journal entries by the young heroine. Initially, I threw my hands up in horror. As a man hurtling towards (coughs) middle age, what do I know about females in their teens? (In their adult years, for that matter)

Then I thought, ultimately, we all want the same things. Just different body parts, right? Anywho, this poem came in at the end of the series when our young artist got her shit together.

So, breathe. Get in the mindset. This is an entry in her journal the morning after ...

Inside I'm Dancing

Every step I take this morning

lands on a cushion of air.

All we did last night was kiss

and today you flavour everything

my mind touches.

Your voice sounds in the rumble

of a passing car. The valerian blue

of your eyes watch over me

reflected in every window

from here to there.

A boy with short, brown hair

gelled to spikes, holds his mother’s hand

while crossing the road. I see you

in the way the boy’s eyes tug at his mum,

checking she is still there.

The boy giving a little kick with each step

as if the promise of a future

 nips at his heels.

An old man at the bus stop, round

like Santa. You in fifty years.  Cheeks

bunched in a grin, wearing an apple blush

like last night when you brushed

my right breast with your arm.

Caught myself smiling at the old man,

wanting to know

how we carry the years,

yet don’t want to spoil the dance

of every blood cell through the chambers of my heart,

like millions of tiny breeze-blown flowers.

c. Michael Malone