four letter words   ©Lisa Golda  2004

If I were to say that life has no meaning
(life, being a little four-letter word that will not
let me go) I would only mean that
all the breaths and births and broken bones that make up
L I F E are a lie; that’s right;  take away F and you’re
Left with a lie;                  
endless numbers in phone books,
bones births breaths brought to naught
an overwhelming onslaught of anonymous information.
Life is a lie.

If I were to tell you that love does not exist, this I think
would be a harder sell; 
after all, you might find love in the phone book,
and if you relinquish L you’ve still got
ove,  ovuum, egg, conception, product thereof
of Love. Remove E, and there’s still
Lov, luv, lv
cannot be reduced so easily to a lie, though it is a profanity
by construction, and sometimes experience.

Now, love life, or Love life;
the telephone numbers take on new importance.
Take a deep breath before you call her,
hearts are broken like bones,
and even if lov is a lie it is still Love,
a conception of breath and bone
borne by way of a profanity that is often anonymous,
but with which, endless and overwhelming, 
we can construe each other
before we let go.