Tonight I listen to fado, folk music of Portugal,
of suffering, loss and passion,
I wonder what is meu fado.
My poetry has taken me to places
I've not travelled to in many years,
to the chase, the pursuit,
to living with my husband and the shadow of a lover
under the same roof,
so naïve as I reached out, sure the ending would be different,
instead the same, a few cryptic words,
I saw so much within him for the future, sad.
Others came after, some brief, some long term.
There was one who swept me up with his poetry,
the romance, full of creativity, soul mates,
yet he suddenly snatched it all from me,
leaving me with bits of him and letters,
words, an infinite amount,
full of conflicting messages that pulled me close,
only to push me away,
too much pain, he needed to be left,
to feel his own open aching heart.
Finally the resolve to move on,
toward normalcy, sanity, a new man,
exciting but solid, a safety net after a long free fall,
the right mixture, true love, many good years together,
yet even that changed, burnished like an old penny,
still dependable, but the thrill dissipated.
So must I settle or trade the known for the unknown,
more of a gamble now,
my powers of attraction diminished, my skills rusty,
do I want this nameless, faceless man of mystery
or the reassurance I've still got "it",
I lack the answer,
deep in contemplation, my mind exploding,
a misstep could unravel an intricate tapestry,
years of stitching, just one loose thread...