An Act of Love

Not an act, I’m told, more a leave to live 
where words have no leverage—I’ve a pile 
of words. It was useful to hear actors 
talk shop about how one doesn’t just act 

but live the role—a trick into feeling 
what doesn’t need said. I watch a cast now 
from this seat next to no one asking me
what was said like these two do, one row up. 

Once home, they’ll unwrap each other’s bow-tied 
necks; mouths agape, marvel over their spoils
as if for the first time. Look at the way
one lowers the other’s mask, levies a kiss, 

then worries back its curl over the usher
-hushed laugh, each needling the other to live.

Copyright © 2023 by Tommye Blount. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 15, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.

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“For many reasons, I’ve lived my life never having experienced romantic love. Lust is easier for me, simpler. I mean, have I not already written so much about the d-word—desire and the other one?! Yes, I’ve had many experiences with lust, but love’s calculus is just as hard as writing this, or any sonnet, for me. With my modest ‘pile of words,’ I’ve troubled this poem, pulled apart its envoi to see what’s inside—in search of that thing many tell me they know so well.”
—Tommye Blount