november

she tells me, tonight, to fall in love,
as if it's something easy to do,
like snapping my fingers
or putting on a glove.

she tells me this, and i resent her for it,
and that's another reason why
i am so completely and utterly failing at it,
and i resent that too.

she tells me to fall in love,
as if i never have before,
as if that particular feeling
had never crossed the threshold
of my universe.

(i love my favorite spoon,
i love the way the seasons change,
i have friends who i love very much;
i am in love, even now.)

she sounds ecstatic, as if
she's never felt this way before,
as if i've never felt that way myself.

and yet i know someone who loved;
i know someone who loved for
decade after decade, who had
enough love to give a little bit
to a poor, lost, loveless soul
like mine.