The Cure for Anything

Make love to me in Spanish.
Not with that other tongue.
I want you juntito a mi,
tender like the language
crooned to babies.
I want to be that
lullabied, mi bien
querido, that loved.
I want you inside
the mouth of my heart,
inside the harp of my wrists,
the sweet meat of the mango,
in the gold that dangles
from my ears and neck.
Say my name. Say it.
The way it’s supposed to be said.
I want to know that I knew you
even before I knew you.

-Sandra Cisneros

Edit: There’s been some wonderful discussion regarding this poem on my Facebook page.  This gist of it is such: Sandra Cisneros is a gifted writer (and a MacArthur fellow!) She is brave (I, alas, am not). Her words, and many other poets, can resonate with me, whether or not I feel the way that the poet does.  I thrive on conversations like this. Thank you, my sweet friend, for making me think more deeply about this, about personal bravery, and about unblocking the flow.  You know who you are.  Much love.  xoxo