a poem by Connie Allfrey
I thought it was a ball, to be passed to and fro,
Dropped and lost at times, suffering
A kick, oh yes, but eventually gathered up,
And thrown on and back again,
Sent this way, that, and rolling
Now I see it is a great fine net that shrouds us,
Longing for us to be caught,
Trapped in its holes,
Longing to love us, love.
Is it not the space that makes lace so divine?
So the holes in love’s net let it breathe,
As life without breath is death, love.
Let’s take the net to the netter
To fix it for a better trawl, my love.
We need to catch the slippery minnows
And the heavy fish,
Catch the balls so snug, like a glove, love.
Sign up, sign up – love is ready if you fall –
Leap and it shall appear,
And you’ll wish you’d leapt before.
Oh so I am the ball, caught in the vastness of life, love.
I am falling and falling –
But the more I fall, the more I am, love.
How very curious, what a genius ploy,
To be in a game where we all can win
If we only notice the earth,
Our toy of love, love.
About the author: Connie Allfrey is a poet, writer, psychotherapist and maker of Munola, which lies somewhere between muesli and granola. She is currently working on her third novel Stop Making Sense and has just started a private psychotherapy practice in Chelsea.
issue 45, poetry, valentine's day