Presence

25 January 2026

https://poems.culturing.net/2026/01/presence/

I must see that you are ready to be a woman
before I could ask you to be my woman,
and I must see it in person and not in character.
I thought you thought you were ready and was nearly ready to ask before.
I suppose you must see that I am also ready to be a man.
We could prove it together.
But I can't shake the feeling that you are only almost ready.
Prove me wrong.
Appear with the grace and confidence that I know you can also imagine.
Invite me into your presence.
I will not break down the door.
But I will enter if you open it.

But maybe the door is stuck, jammed
with memories and bruises. Even so, I maintain
that it only opens inward. I cannot help clear it from outside.
You must clear the way to let me in. Only then
could I help, and I would help, with feeling.
But I have not the power nor the inclination
to break down doors, and I think you would find
that life with no door is far worse than the life you have now.

You can choose to let me in, even for wild reasons,
to set free a wildness within. It is true, I have known doorbreakers
and the allure of barging in. But I surrender that power
in the name of something higher, a love which awaits invitations
and happy news. You must keep your door, for without it you would be exposed
to the worst kind of monster, a man in heat. You must keep your door,
with a fresh handle, clear of obstructions, but locked
until the time of your choosing.

It would not take much, I could squeeze through
even a narrow opening, and begin the work
of sorting things out. What matters is the intent,
the respect for doors and locks, without which
you place yourself in grave danger. Perhaps I fibbed
when I said that I have not the power to break down doors.
I do have it, but I will not use it, because it would hurt you,
perhaps for a long time afterward. You have a power too,
that of opening and closing, and I would like to see you wield it
as a woman in full command of her presence.