If I were to write a poem
About the men I most admired,
It would not be about the moon keepers,
Or the ones who have whispered
Their earthiness and nectar in my ear,
Because I have not yet found the one who will see me;
wild fire and stillness combined,
And love me truly.
Instead, I would write about the father who gave me my first word,
His first gift to a poet,
And who made me laugh, and offered me his hand.
I would tell you about the grandfather who laid the foundations of my resilience,
who never waivered
From his vast and comforting belief that I am many things;
But most of all, tenacious.
I would introduce you to my brother,
Whose strength and gentleness are the safety of the port,
The ocean-weary seek,
As he offers both his kindness and protection.
I would tell you the names of the friends,
I have grown my roots with,
From a small child, when their caring was shown in coral necklaces, and moments of goodness,
As sweet as the strawberries we grew in our garden,
To my older years, when the steadiness and decency
Of friends I chose, who happened to be men,
Was the sextant I was given,
To tell me what men are and what they're meant to be.
And I well know
That there are men who would burn the temples
I believe in,
For the thrill of flames or some destruction,
And I do not keep my faith with them, at all.
Women have been fundamental to my growing, and my staying.
But men have been as necessary, too.
They are both the needed pillars of those temples,
Adding to their beauty and their reverence,
Just like the sky between.