Liz’s Weekend Poetry Series: True Love

by lizard

This weekend’s love poem comes from a collection by Sharon Olds, titled The Wellspring (Knopf, 1995).



In the middle of the night, when we get up
after making love, we look at each other in
complete friendship, we know so fully
what the other has been doing. Bound to each other
like mountaineers coming down from a mountain,
bound with the tie of the delivery-room,
we wander down the hall to the bathroom, I can
hardly walk, I wobble through the granular
shadowless air, I know where you are
with my eyes closed, we are bound to each other
with huge invisible threads, our sexes
muted, exhausted, crushed, the whole
body a sex—surely this
is the most blessed time of my life,
our children asleep in their beds, each fate
like a vein of abiding mineral
not discovered yet. I sit
on the toilet in the night, you are somewhere in the room,
I open the window and snow has fallen in a
steep drift, against the pane, I
look up, into it,
a wall of cold crystals, silent
and glistening, I quietly call to you
and you come and hold my hand and I say
I cannot see beyond it. I cannot see beyond it.

—Sharon Olds

  1. thanks for the poem. it’s beautifully quiet. reminds me of that old herman’s hermits song i loved as a kid: there’s a kind of hush all over the world tonight, all over the world people just like us are falling in love, so listen very carefully, closer now, and you will see what i mean, it isn’t a dream . . . the only sound that you will hear is when i whisper in your ear “i love you, forever and ever” . . . there’s a kind of hush all over the world tonight, all over the world people just like us are falling in love. hush, you silly lizard.

  2. Ingemar Johansson

    comment deleted. —lizard

    • Steve W

      Did you write that Ingy? Or did you steal it?

      • lizard19

        I’m not a big fan of misogyny put to verse, so I deleted it, but based on Ingy’s past poetic contributions, I think he’s probably competent enough to have actually composed that pile of rhyming crap.

  3. Ingemar Johansson

    I copied this one.

    Never take yourself too serious.
    by jermaine

    We live to die, be born, die, and live again

    Each an expanding and contracting galaxy, racing from and toward Love

    No freedom except in Love
    All drawn of creation
    All design of evolution

    or nothing at all.

  1. 1 An April Feast Of Poetry « 4&20 blackbirds

    […] True Love […]

  2. 2 Liz’s Weekly Poetry Series: Anticipating April | 4&20 blackbirds

    […] True Love […]

  3. 3 152 Poetry Posts to Celebrate April, National Poetry Month | 4&20 blackbirds

    […] True Love […]

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