love is in the details

Due to both of us covering shifts for quarantined co-workers, it had been a while since my ex-husband, our daughter and I had seen each other. So I asked him to visit us at our new apartment (did I tell you that we got a new apartment? if not, consider yourself notified) and do handyman things like mount the TV on the wall, fix a wobbly table.

When I opened the door, he held in his hands a 6-pack of toilet paper.


“I found a storage unit that no one had checked since 2012 and it was full of toilet paper. I’ve been told to use my own best judgement to find recipients but keep it low-key.”

I paused for a moment to smile and enjoy the absurdity of the moment.

“Please, let me in!” he continued. “I don’t want any else knowing you have extra t.p.”

And there it was, like sunshine: love.  (And absurdity, but we’ll save that for later).

I don’t forgive him, and my heart is elsewhere at this point. But he still loves me.

It didn’t have to be this way, and Goddess knows I tried to stay married to him.

Pardon me this maudlin moment, but when it got nearly impossible towards the end of my marriage, I would listen to this song and hope for something better in the morning.

I loved my ex, but he simply wouldn’t believe that A) a large and well-funded entity was harassing me for something stupid I did in 2001, and B) we should take the fight to them.

He was on the same page with me when he was trying to get into my pants.

However, after pointed edges of sex and reproduction were fulfilled, he back-pedalled.

Meanwhile, this poem isn’t about my ex-husband, unlike tool kit.

There is a lot of history in this poem, especially the history of William Shakespeare.

I am not an Oxfordian, although I thoroughly enjoyed the movie Anonymous.

edward de vere

Instead, I am a Stratfordian. I saw this movie through a limited USA release on Christmas Day in a theater packed with other Bardies (is that a word? so much potential!) And for one shining moment, I thought humanity might actually be closer to love, peace, truth.

shakespeare in love

The feeling never stays, but I know it will come again. In the meantime, make and consume and discuss and imagine art. And adopt a stray dog or cat.

New life springs from sorrow. Love can arise from hate, and vice versa. And we will never know the end when we first begin. Shakespeare taught me all this, plus how to tell a dirty joke without getting in trouble.


Shakespeare minted the coin to mean
the wide expanse of a mattress;
but I would take you, truth be told,
anywhere I could, I confess.

I’ve considered you naked, clothed;
and which of the two I’d rather
press down to that space so mentioned
where we could, love, work up a lather.

I have no shame, need no bedding
to bed you and have you bed me.
say the word and we’re King Edward
with his White Queen under a tree.

or perhaps we’re star-cross’d lovers:
me Juliet, you Romeo.
two children with so much to find,
and so much right raunchy to know.

Hamlet oft fucked Ophelia,
ridiculed her ‘til she went mad.
I think this was your plan, at first,
but fumbled your part as the cad.

I think of your cock, forgive me,
to know how it feels in my hand.
I think of your chest and your hips.
oh, you’re so gorgeous, golden, grand.

if all that it took was asking,
you’d already be here with me.
since one thing the Bard knows well of:
the right words create ecstasy.

Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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