June Gelato

When she was in the eighth grade, she was

Obsessed with love; all of its possibilities and

Abilities to transcend the intangibles of time and space. She also

Grew up plagued with the potency of hope. Movies did that to her. Of course, her

Reality at this point was divorce, secrets, shame, and anger; Real world

Love presented itself to her as this. But she chose to

See it as the imperative worth the fight. It had to be.

Why shouldn’t the screaming and spitting stop otherwise?

When she was in the eleventh grade, she was still

Wrapped up in its potential. But by now, the

Grimy, seedy, painful, sharp underbelly of

Love had been relentless with her. The potent hope of

Age thirteen had morphed into the slow realization of

Unrealistic expectations.

The fights didn’t stop and what’s more, the slobbering

Tongue of her first kiss shattered what she’d hoped to have been

Magic. Yet, for reasons she still cannot quite

Understand, desire and hollywood kisses flowered in her

Sleep like purple tulips in May.

When she turned eighteen, she wanted so badly to

Believe in love that she took in his

Tears for genuine grief instead of the truth of coercion. Love

Broke her in the early hours of a March wedding day.

And worse, she let it happen.

She’s twenty-two now. And she doubtless took ample time to grow and

Learn. But what she can say now is that the gelato of

June sixth tasted like love as she never thought existed. And she’s still a little

Broken. Ages thirteen, sixteen, and eighteen did that to her. So she’s

Scared. All the time. But she also knows that the

June sixth gelato felt better than all the

Purple tulips she ever dreamt of. So, darling, amidst the

Chaos, I just have one question. A request, really.

Can we keep eating the gelato?