Over time (too much, arguably) I have learned that her smell comforts me. It works best if it’s a shirt, one she has worn enough to sweat in. And then, while she’s away, I wear the shirt, and am fine. And the missing can feel good, instead of panicky. Missing puts love into relief, doesn’t it? You can see the landscape.
I’ve remembered another line from that poem. In evening, this late inevitable chant. I am going to love myself. I have gone off to love myself.
This late, inevitable chant.
Our frailties have to be OK. With ourselves. They have to be OK, or they have to change.
About A FIELD GUIDE TO DECEPTION, here is some lovely news, just in time for Christmas: http://www.afterellen.com/books/2009/12/across-the-page