Your Father didn’t have no heart!
When he lost his wife
His heart became a knife
It cut a hole in his chest
’til the day that he died.
Your mother, oh she of great works,
has a sword for a spine
She cuts through obstacles
with power and precision
Never let it be said that she
lacks the power of decision
So you’re the son
of a knife and a sword
Of course you’re a critic
With that honed an edge
What else comes forward?
As for love in your life
Of course you’re done sooner
A knife and a sword
Cut through the half-empty glass
Before a woman can say
’Go to hell’
and knock you on your ass.
Or you’ll say no first –
A pre-emptive strike
and end up with a life
that you didn’t like.
Time to beat your swords into plowshares
And put down your gun
What prize of the heart
Has your criticism won?
The safest place for your heart
in all this?
Could you be redeemed
By a woman’s kiss?
A kiss that saves worlds
and lights up the sky
That bathes your heart
in soft tunes
’til you stop asking why
She won’t call at your door
or beckon your call
You won’t find her at all
’til you stop looking
or take a class in French cooking
Somewhere, there’s strength in your heart
That keeps seeking
What gives time meaning
As life keeps gleaning
These moments of love
of insight and lust
’til it’s ashes to ashes
and dust to dust.
© Denise Schultz 2009
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