Peace Offering

Peace Offering

I don’t know what love is, but I

know how to peel a blood orange,

how to unravel the dimpled outer skin

then pick the pith from its pink flesh

and hand it off to the man I love.

Is love the need to give all we have

to someone else, this feeling that

if I don’t share the abundance, I’ll suffer

alone for the rest of my life? Earlier,

my husband sat in the living room,

silent because I had said something

that hurt him. Call this trucked-in orange

my make-up gift, my peace offering

still cold from the fridge, as solid

as a promise in the hand. I don’t know

how to stop failing at love, only that

failure’s the way to keep loving

as imperfectly as we all must, pressing

my lips against his clean, wet hair

and holding out the sections I have

peeled for him as if I grew them myself.


Published in ONE ART, along with 2 other poems

I always thought of myself as a peaceful, attentive person. But when I entered a long-term relationship, all of my old ideas came into question. I found myself saying things I never would have said before, doing things that surprised me. There are so many ways we harm each other, often unwittingly, unaware of what we are doing, and it seems the task of love—if we accept—is to shine a light into our darkest corners, to reveal what remains unexamined, unquestioned, unhealed. We can forget that peace begins at home, in our daily lives, and if that peace if nowhere to be found, it is our responsibility to try and understand why. I still can’t remember what I said that upset my husband, but I do recall the humbling realization that I would have to own my careless mistake. I do recall sitting next to him on the couch, his hair still wet from the shower, and apologizing, offering the blood orange I had just peeled for him. We can’t live in close relationship to anyone or anything without failing sometimes, but it is up to us whether or not we choose to acknowledge those shortcomings. We might see people in power right now who’d never admit that they are wrong, whose decisions have harmed, and will continue to harm, many others. What a painful way to live—what a waste to keep one’s heart closed against the possibility of growth, and the expansion of spirit that comes when we embrace our humanness, with compassion for ourselves and those we may have hurt. Former U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith has said, “Sometimes, love looks like small things.” I would even go so far as to say that love is almost always about the small ways we show up for each other, and the small things we offer to prove that we’re here, we’re paying attention, we still care.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Describe a time when you made amends with someone, perhaps making your own peace offering to them. What did it feel like to enter that place of humility and own your mistake?

If you enjoy these free weekly emails, please consider making a donation here, or become a member and support this offering on a monthly basis.


Ways to Gather:

The Medicine of Poetry, a free Zoom reading with dear friends next Wednesday, 4/16 at 7pm ET. Recorded. Sign up below:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1298215731199?aff=oddtdtcreator

Love & Verse for Now, a free Zoom reading with the luminous Jacqueline Suskin on Wednesday, 4/23 at 7pm ET. Recorded. Sign up below:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/1298213303939?aff=oddtdtcreator

Grateful Anyway, an in-person one-day retreat with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer in San Luis Obispo, CA on Thursday, May 1st 9am-3pm PT. $200. More details below:

https://www.jamescrews.net/news/z735x25roc0sz1n3dp5jac4sxul5pa

Oh, Broken Open Heart, a Mother's Day reading & conversation with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer to support mourners via Zoom on Thursday, May 8th at 7pm ET. Recorded. Sliding scale, 0 to $30. More details below:

https://letsreimagine.org/76768/oh-broken-open-heart-a-mothers-day-poetry-gathering-for-mourners