A THANK-YOU NOTE TO MEN

To you, whom it may concern,


To my Adam, who chose to be stupid and submissive in the name of love (not knowledge), for the apple that got stuck in your throat, maybe that's why you don't speak so well but feel so much that it hurts sometimes; you who gave me a duplicate to your heart, your car, and your home; for letting me use your razor, your t-shirt, your coat, and your shoulder to cry, sleep, and lean on when I was drunk with laughter and alcohol; you who made me scream with sheer delight and utter exasperation; for not understanding a word of english for the sake of argument but who understands a look perfectly well; a sophisticated neanderthal who will never get it, though you try, you really do; you who laughed at me for putting on makeup, you liked my oily face and disheveled hair just fine; thank you for the flowers and for screwing in the light bulbs and me when I needed it, and for all the things I couldn't reach; you helped me up, carried me on your back, to the car, to the toilet, to the garbage can, to the bed, and kissed me, who has lost all bearing and composure, goodnight anyway; for forgetting, always forgetting something, making me remember, keeping me on my feet; you stood beside me, behind me, in the front to shield me, honor me, protect and defy me; thank you for keeping me grounded and soaring, for taking my breath away and making me swallow that bitter pill of assuming of knowing everything because I seriously thought I did, once, then you came and fucked everything up; for opening me to your truth; you who swept me off my feet and left me on the floor to pick up the pieces of the mess you made; who knelt in front of me pleading like a homeless puppy for getting my knees dirty and licking my wounds with your tongue-lashing; you whispered in my ear as I slept and I swore they haunted my dreams like the ghost of past loves out to get me, but I laid still and you held me there, without pride, prejudice, or inhibition even as your arm lost all blood and feeling; a man, naked, singular, missing a rib. How do I love thee? You set my soul on fire. And I light up the world as you stand there in the shadows, licking that self-serving smile that found its way to your lips and mine; for giving me my sin again. You gave me that; you who kept me always in your heart, sometimes in your thoughts, but never in your debt. I am eternally grateful.

---Michelle Callanta


***Inspired by Mary-Louise Parker's A Thank You Note to Men