To Emily Hale
“Regnum caelorum will submit to force Assailed by warmth of love or living hope, Which overcome the claims of God’s own will, Not in the manner that men beat down men But win because will wishes to be won And won, wills all with all its own good will.” Paradiso, 20.94-99
Bitter sweet names, pickle couplets, curdle portraits, lovingly crafted from words counted, parsed, not one given freely.
Projected portraits unwound into— unsprung egos bruised in brawls for petty scraps of land, unwillingly prospected, never to be conquered.
Love demands grace, demands, not in the manner that men beat down men their wives the inner voice that prods apologies.
Overcoming, not bitter with bitter, or sneer with sneer, victimhood established beyond reasonable doubt, love curdled into pride.
Wait through two wives more, Emily. Maybe then, he'll love you, and you will need it less.