devotion

Devotion

first clue

the Mets shirt

he will love you if you win or if you lose

but he really wants

you to win

and he will

yell about it

second fact

he holds your hand

though you already know

how to walk

and you are not crossing

the street you are

walking on a wide deserted beach

but the ocean is big

third thing

the sunglasses the cap

he’s fully clothed and walking

with you mostly naked children

in the sun of afternoon

what does he clothe his spirit in

to set you free

If you are truly fortunate in this lifetime, you will be loved by a Mets fan, a Knicks fan, or the versions of these lovers in other regions and contexts. What I mean is that you deserve to be loved by a person loyal to their own decision to pay attention, to study you, to bring their full presence, to root for you , to fully believe in you, even though you usually lose when it matters. Because that’s the other thing, if you are like me (or the Mets or the Knicks), you usually lose. It is usually too much, the first period or quarter is more beautiful than the last, fatigue is real, and people keep leaving. The post-season is a mess, if you even get there. If you are like me you know what it is to lose, to know everything and everyone we love will go beyond us at some point. The only way to avoid it is never to love anything, never to want any closeness, and how is that going? You don’t have to tell me. I tried it too. But now I accept myself as a lover and loser. Which means (no offense to the Yankees fans among us) that I have compassion for those who have only practiced loving the winners, who benefit from a fashionable love, a love supported by empire. But I am a daughter of diaspora. So I know that our love will have to be stronger than playbooks and billionaire acquisitions of sweat from abroad. Our love will have to last season after season after season sometimes without any reason for hope. Our love will have to reach across oceans. Our love cannot bank on external guarantees, we will have to regenerate it ourselves. And we will. This is what I mean when I say my father is a Mets fan. Which is not really about the Mets. It is evidence of a particular approach to love that I can see now. An approach to life. Which is why I look past the brave chests of my cousins to my father, in this disintegrating photo, clothed, somewhat subdued, not smiling, but holding my hand while I look at the ground. Because I need to remember that, I need to know that, I need to practice a love that is not based on performance, ease, success. A love bigger than stadiums, countries or time. A love that is its own reason. It is a love I can depend on right now. I can feel it right here, not because I deserve it, but because it offers itself to me anyway while I’m over here losing. Where I thought I was losing. Learning what I was losing. And that it can never be lost.

P.S. My every day writing practice shapes my days into vessels for generations of love. If you want support with your own daily creative practice, I’d love to be part of your journey. This is the Stardust and Salt Daily Creative Practice Intensive.