I’ve refused to believe
you are meant for me.
Thunderstorms always seem
to play themselves out well
west of my haunt.
I’ve seen your like
sashaying gray on
the low western ridge,
thundering devolving
into giggling, pirouetting
shyly before Simpleton Peak.
In the late afternoon,
minds begin pushing,
prophesying.
I start believing
you are meant for me.
Watching you billowing,
filling the width of my vision,
watching you darken doorsteps
by the thousands, I
start to reckon with you,
start to respect you,
start to want you.
Eastern thinking kinds
collect eagerly
on agreeable curbs,
by piety’s crosswalks,
before a-framed
sanctuaries—
steeples standing
worthy of a romance
novel cover—sporting
for a good war to fight.
Are you afraid they’ll stab your feet, angel?
You cheat to the south, leaping
toward the flatlands,
to the root-laying farmer,
because you are older now;
you want to die nourishing
crops by rows, not rinsing
gutters. I tell myself
you’ve chosen wisely.
You pass eastward
unburdened, rising
softer and whiter, on
charming winds marching
northeast toward sunrise
shores, almost like… maybe like
you’ve gone out of your way
to miss me.
That’s how I feel honestly,
perhaps mistakenly;
my emotions are non-fiction,
pungent like an almost-
gone cigar singeing fingers
as it makes all minds smell
it. It is for the best
you were not meant for me.
Poet’s Notes:
The post’s title refers to a famous quote by President Spencer W. Kimball who said, “‘Soul mates’ are fiction and an illusion…” This came in an address titled Oneness in Marriage, given at Brigham Young University on September 7, 1976.
To try another piece of free verse, read Under the Belly of the Bird.
The storm clouds image is by Samuel F. Johanns on Pixabay. Reactions to the poem are welcome in the comments section below.
This was amazing! Thank you 😊
Thank you for reading, Alice!
Well Done. This is a topic I have thought about as my kids are getting married. I don’t think they are as much infected with the “Saturday’s Warrior” theology.
Yes, Happy Hubby. Good to mention Saturday’s Warrior. I’ve been getting back into consuming musical theater some recently, and that show was a natural extension of my musical craze in high school. Still love a lot of the music, but I also love your use of the word “infect” to describe Saturday’s Warrior theology. Then again, infectious can be a great way to describe showtunes. Thank you for chiming in with a parental perspective. Very interesting to consider how differently a younger generation might view such ideas.
I thoroughly enjoy your poems Jake; this one still has me thinking, though I’m naturally drawn to thunderous and moody imagery.
Which is why I like this one so much. SWK was so black and white in his addresses, and my life is full of greyish thunderous clouds. I’m quite certain many of the “righteous young men” I know- were we married- we’d be miserable. Finding someone who tolerates my shortcomings and loves them (mostly) means more to me right now than SWK’s fearful warning about “impediments” which may never be removed.
I hope a non-fiction comes soon for whoever is yearning.
So nice to see my picture here. 🙂 Feels good to help other creative people at their work process. Beautiful poem, Jake.
Thank you Anne and Samuel for your comments. Anne, I was struck by your observations on shade and the role of grey in how each of us approaches the issue of companionship. The food for thought is appreciated.