I Don’t Know Love, But I Can Swing 17 September 2006Posted by EDITOR in GUESTS, Poetry, Psychology, Relationships.
Our guest contributor this week is Kyla Pasha, a Pakistani writer who teaches history and religion in Lahore. This is one of the newer poems on her web site.
Well-versed in the syncopations
of love’s first calls and fully read-up
on the sonnets available from the muse,
this park swing finds me an avid follower
of a new way. I don’t know love anymore,
but I do know swinging in the park. And I find it
hard to fathom that there is any depth
left in the subject that cannot be
plumbed by kicking the ground hard
and having your heart lurch into your
mouth indecently. Love is
after all, only an abstract way to trip
yourself repeatedly and blame it on someone.
And heartbreak is every scraped knee, gravel
and blood embedded obscenely in each other.
I’d rather wager my fortune on a swing
tied with ropes too long, than a man
tied with words and promises
to me, tied with words and promises –
No, I’d rather fight gravity, lose
and fight again, than love a man
and love a man and come down,
hit the ground and love a man again.