Poets’ Corner: 3 Different Spins on Love for Valentine’s Day

Poets’ Corner: 3 Different Spins on Love for Valentine’s Day

Popular celebrations of Valentine’s Day gained traction in the late 17th century, but not until 100 years ago did most Europeans and Americans begin to agree that a long-term relationships (in those days that meant marriage) should be based on love. Since then, Cupid’s Day has evolved into the signature day of the year when a gift of any kind ought to express positive sentiments within a primary relationship of any kind: married or partnered, straight or gay – the one with yourself. A special gift of intimacy is in order – roses, chocolate, jewelry, tickets to a baseball game – or a beautiful poem.

The verses below from three of our favorite writers offer three entirely different spins on love: Kierstin Bridger speaks to the wonder of an enduring relationship, hers (yours or anyone’s really); San Miguel County’s new Poet Laureate and co-owner of Telluride’s Between the Covers Bookstore, Daiva Chesonis, raises the temperature with her intimate look at the signatures of passion; and David Feela’s words capture what mature love can look like.



by Kierstin Bridger


My darling’s best haircut was in an alley shop,
Vancouver BC, on our way to dinner. The woman placed
her small Korean hand on his big Norwegian head.

She commanded him to hold still
as she unfastened the safety guard
from her sharp barber’s razor.

Both of us held our breath as wisps
of  his  auburn locks flew
like bird shadow from her quick slashes.

After she set down her weapon
he felt his nape— never more naked,
felt his pelt never more true.

He tells the story every time
we taste kimchi, every time
we smack our lips over bimimbap.

His eyes glaze over in nostalgic remembrance
as if he misses shearling from the old country
or had been saved in a war.

But it was just us, no more than kids,
stumbling shaggy into a dream
unaware her hands would nest with us forever.

Love has become all the stories we tell
all the women
who could have cut him but didn’t,

all the times we were hungry
held our breath and opened our eyes
to see we were still alive, still together.


by Daiva Chesonis

Daiva and her partner, writer Craig Childs.

I like seeing that pile of clothes on the floor
boxers, functional trousers, mismatched socks
pen still in the pocket of the button-down
at the ready should a thought need to be penned on an abdomen
the long ones curling up and over the hip and down a leg
these wrinkled remnants are the artifacts of love
the scattered shards of ecstasy after a sweet day of foreplay in the desert
the archeology of oneness, the fluted lithics of lust.


by David Feela

On the un-shoveled icy sidewalk
an elderly couple

shuffles toward the grocery shop.
One prods the snow

with a cane,
the other lugs an empty sack.

Between them, arms entwined
like links of a chain.

All that traction
by refusing to disengage.

No Comments

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.