The Wake

Everybody acts like they
have fallen in love a thousand times.
They give boxes of chocolates,
perfumes and flowers
and thank each other with cards.
While the boxing companies may be doing quite well,
I can no longer spot
burning hearts in rooms of hundreds.
They all keep their clothes on
and four chair legs firmly planted.

Count on your right hand
how many times you’ve been in love—
the lucky
will need their left hand.
Few make it to their feet,
fewer count at all.

Georgia O’Keeffe lived for nearly a century.
Even those who saw only one painting
never complained.
Consider me among the grateful:
who knows that the colors
of my red sun sleeping heart
match the tone of the Oriental Poppies?
I need both hands.