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To have without holding

    "Learning to love differently is hard,
    love with the hands wide open, love
    with the doors banging on their hinges,
    the cupboard unlocked, the wind...

    roaring and whimpering in the rooms
    rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
    that thwack like rubber bands
    in an open palm.

    It hurts to love wide open
    stretching the muscles that feel
    as if they are made of wet plaster,
    then of blunt knives, then
    of sharp knives.

    It hurts to thwart the reflexes
    of grab, of clutch; to love and let
    go again and again. It pesters to remember
    the lover who is not in the bed,
    to hold back what is owed to the work
    that gutters like a candle in a cave
    without air, to love consciously, concretely, constructively.

    I can’t do it, you say it’s killing
    me, but you thrive, you glow
    on the street like a neon raspberry.
    You float and sail, a helium balloon
    bright bachelor’s button blue and bobbing
    on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
    as we make and unmake in passionate
    diastole and systole the rhythm
    of our unbound bonding, to have
    and not to hold, to love
    with minimized malice, hunger
    and anger moment by moment balanced."

    Marge Piercy