Ladies, love!

Deep greens and blues remind me of walking
hand-in-hand over railroad tracks to nowhere,
turning and walking back to where we started,
remind me of kissing you,
not like kissing a man--like kissing
every woman.

Put down that miracle cream if you wield
it out of self-loathing.
Ladies, love!
Each other.

Remember when we took turns rubbing each other's back and shoulders?
How we sketched our house plan? We were twelve.
How we believed that though we would have husbands
they would be close like us, of course,
and we'd take turns cooking each other dinner
in our had to be shared home--because,
we couldn't live without each other?
How we'd care for each other's children?

I washed your feet.
I combed your hair.
I was alive.

The air on the Pacific Ocean is cold in November,
but I was warmed by your daring and jumped the waves
near-naked because I was with you.

Forgive! If you forgive nothing else,
the falterings of your ladies.

We are all of us wanting to be understood.
We are ugly. We are beautiful.
What's the difference?
We are bloooming and dying and blooming again.

They say
you never forget your first love.
It should be true.