by Jonathan Griffith, April 1981
I drive past, encased in practicalities,
The Girl, waiting my passing, stirs memories, brings loneliness,
Open, youthful, untroubled beauty, seeming whole,
My incompleteness aches.
Could I ask her to walk with me,
And tie her freedom with my stumbling?
Would she ease and speed my labours,
Cooking, cleaning, writing?
Could she accept, love, lie with me,
Caress my leaping limbs and need my fimbling?
Or would I bruise her tenderness,
Or grasping, break the wholeness that I seek?
Years past I did not know or dare to ask,
Fear sealed my longing in dumb words
And smiles that, twisting, spoke of things unbearable.
Now I know each needs another to be whole;
That one with another, equal,
Can find greater freedom,
Longings satisfied,
Now I know that I am equal,
My greatness matching what I lack,
My caring over all.
Yet still past ghosts, unexcorized,
Will seal my lips;
And twist my face;
And knot my limbs.
A strangled longing murders what it sought,
In helplessness.
Come, weep with me,
Set free my life
To seek its wholeness joyfully.