To Write a Refuge

I was sitting in the attic one day this February,

staring at album covers, thinking about images

like the ones on greeting cards, and then I remembered

it was close to Valentine's Day and I had nothing

for you. But, you know, I deal in words, so there was hope,

maybe not of something that said I took the time to venture

out into the world, to find something like I was hunting

for prey, to feed my family, especially my adored wife, but

at least something that said I was thinking about you 

and about how short I always come up at times like this, 

when I'm supposed to show my appreciation for how good

a woman you are and how well you treat me, making sure

that if we fight, you don't hold a grudge or make me feel as 

though I'm not worthy of a beautiful image I might find

or one of those cliche expressions of love with a clever twist

that exist mostly inside greeting cards, accompanied by

a box a super-expensive chocolates (which, I promise, 

I will get next time). I can't make up my mind

about automatic holidays like this one, what they signify

in the big picture, in terms of loving you well. 

Is loving a thing anybody does well? You would know

better than I would, or maybe nobody would, but

we need a big picture to say, with so much uncertainty,

that we've been certain about one thing, that 

inside a card whose cover image doesn't quite get us

or inside a poem that can't find the perfect words, 

we still speak to each other until what we say 

makes sense of the heart-shaped days and all the others too. 

George Guida is author of eleven books, including the forthcoming poetry collections The Fulfillment Center (Foothills Publishing, 2026) and Zen of Pop (Long Sky Media, 2020). He coordinates the Finger Lakes Arts Series in Dansville, New York, and teachings writing and literature at New York City College of Technology.