On "Notes from 'Cole'"

I recently found a diamond engagement ring and wedding band I purchased three years ago for a young lady I intended to marry.  Needless to say, we didn't end up married.  Finding that ring (an realizing that I'd allowed myself to lose such a beautifully set, expensive stone in the first place) brought up many emotions I thought I'd left behind.

I've written a series of posts on finding that ring, and what it has represented at different points in my life for the past three years.  In the past, I've had heartburn over publishing posts describing my feelings and experiences as a gay Mormon.  Now, I'm not one who believes in justifying one's feelings (actions, however, should bear accountability), but I don't like to cause others discomfort.  I've debated about publishing these posts (and others on faith vs. nature, personal history, and shifting belief systems) on this particular blog: some posts are are composed as an I'm-writing-to-examine-and-understand-this-thing-in-my-life, and could be controversial or too "diary" driven.  I haven't wanted to make certain readers uncomfortable or uneasy about what they'll find when (and if) they read flowers.

So, while I do write about things I've learned while trying to balance a life in the Church and as a gay man, I don't believe flowers isn't the place for that.  I will be exploring those sorts of issues at another blog, Notes from "Cole".  Head on over there if y'all are interested.

On Children

Now, I know I can't take responsibility for having taken part in creating these two precious girls, nor do I lay parental claim on their upbringing, but I love them.

This quote from Brian Andreas sums up the realization I came to while my nieces were here (one of them twice!) in September--

There are lives I can imagine without children but none of them have the same laughter & noise.

Revelations before a Disastrous Marriage

I.
She is in the kitchen,
slicing cheese to melt over
white bread.  A few minutes later,
she sits with you on the couch, watching
the opening scene of something starring Julia
Roberts.  Two pieces of bread, topped with bubbling
cheese, crowd a small plate she puts in her lap.  You reach
over to take the piece you think is yours.  She slaps your hand
away.  “I didn’t make these for you,” she says.
                                                                             You get up to floss your teeth.

You are not too surprised when you think to yourself, Selfish bitch.


II.
The tongue,

     alarmed at how
     this small space it felt spreading
     between a tooth and gum
     came to be,

cannot quit curling up into
your lip
to touch that sweet sting of
cavity.


III.
You are both at a party.  She flaunts the ring you bought for her
until she sees you trying to ignore the drunk boy who is trying to
flirt with you.  Later, she sits in your car, asking you the question
you won’t ask yourself.  She reaches for your hand, because it’s
what she thinks you want.  You both cry, trying to curl up into the
space spreading out and in between you.