Mia Paschal

Mia Paschal lives in San Francisco where she dances, acts and writes.

If love were something I could do

what is love
where does it come from

I do not know

if love were born of a poem
I would write
and write
and write
poems and novelpoems and essaypoems and 
carved away with parentheticals tucked away lines
sticky brambled run-on sentences in soft and needed spaces
I would write so much
my body would melt into pencil and paper
my kisses into alexandrines and haikus
tangled in the free verses of my sighs and sleeping breath
and the man I would send them to
these inky little poemflames burning my fingers 
oh he would love me back in kind
his heart would be so full of me
and we would revolve around each other forever
and ever

but I don't think that's how it works


if love were born of something
I would do
and do
and do
and do again
(furiously industriously I know how to stay busy)
then do some more
(as I said)

but I'm not sure if that will do

if love were to be simply happened upon
I would walk 
and walk 
and skip
and walk
all around the world
and leave my light on
when I am home

maybe love will dance across my path?

if love were a song
I would stand by my window
and sing it loud
to see who would join me
and I would sing it soft
to see who would hear
what was on my heart

and stop to listen 

(even if it were sunny
with parks and beaches and hiking trips spur of the moment planned)
(even if it were dark
and far from home)

if love were to be tackled and chained
and dragged kicking and gagged across the threshold of me
and then shoved into a liverspotted chair at a sullen kitchen table
I would
I don't think that it is how it works
so no

but if love were the inside of an embrace
and wanted to be coaxed and cuddled
I would set out a bowl of milk 
or beer
and wait by the fire
and be

© Mia Paschal.