Absence by Tamira Gibbs Chumilla
No flowers on the table with a man
The eternal absence of caramel stained teeth
A timid hand holding empty air
The unfulfilled desire to praise
To jump headfirst into one’s lover
Diving deep beneath the epidermis
Burying oneself amongst the singing cells
No such thing in the land of distance
The no man’s land they call manhood
Unborn chance to map the skin with curious taste buds
A serendipitous encounter with uncovered flesh
Skin smoking with an otherworldly tinge of lust
Mellifluous beauty washing over the eternal held breath
All of this flowering of feelings left festering
Left on the barbed wire in the mud-drenched land of yearning
To hold raspberries to his lips and paint them red
To caress flower petals into his cheeks
To pour magma affection into my hands
And hold it to his chest in front of the world
But the word “wrong” drips off his tongue in rivulets
His stare is stapled to the ivy gazes of others
Our bodies stay suspended in space
At opposite ends of the galaxy
I bite my tongue and watch it bleed
***
“My poem is about something that has been on my mind for a while now. It appears to be very simple but in essence it becomes a very complex thing. It is the act of giving a man a flower. I have not yet experienced being in a relationship of any type, but I’ve given the idea quite a few thoughts. It struck me one day upon meeting up with a friend how I would like to bring him flowers from time to time. There wasn’t much to the thought at first, just “Huh, I could bring him a flower next time”. But at one point I had a sudden thought pop into my head “You can’t because it would make him uncomfortable”. I didn’t really understand this thought, so I decided to ask him what he thought about me bringing him (or another man for that matter) a flower. He didn’t look very comfortable at the idea of it. And it made me wonder why exactly that was the case, because who, honestly, doesn’t like flowers? Then I thought about how if I were in a relationship I would love to bring my lover (regardless of gender) a flower, but there with this sort of feeling that it would be wrong if my lover was a man. Thus the simple idea of giving a man a flower becomes very complicated and strange. And in the end I am left asking why exactly this is the case. What is it about men receiving flowers that is so strange. Is it a big deal? Perhaps it isn’t, but it’s something that struck me as being odd”
Tamira Gibbs Chumilla talking about her poem
