I felt it in my heart.
I held it in my gut.
He whispered to me—
The truth before you told me.
Before you mustered up enough
Strength, courage, boldness.
To let me know yourself
How did I know?
Is it because I’m woman?
And you’re male.
Is it because I hold a heightened power of intuition?
(That’s too reductive).
Or, is it because I’ve seen you before?
You’re a déjà vu of other men,
Who didn’t have the tenacity.
To hold the truth. To tell the truth
So instead covered it up with half-truths
And an opalescence that they thought was
so distracting, I couldn’t see through the shimmer and the shine.
I do like shiny things.
that’s why I’m a connoisseur of the real from the fake
Did you not know? You can tell a real pearl by its grit
When you bite down on it.
That’s a fact. For real. Proof of authenticity.
Let me tell you the truth.
It will set you free.
I saw it before you knew it.
I saw it coming weeks in advance.
Because I hold intimate knowledge of you
I’m no fortune teller. I don’t have the gift of foresight.
But—I am a woman who runs with the wolves.
Insight told me, miles ahead of you
Because I am not afraid of the wild,
Or the rhythms of the moon, that dictate change in the tides.
Does it frighten you?
Because I see you for who you are, and I’m not afraid of it.
I don’t walk away without asking you first to look me in the eyes.
Because I could push you stratospherically out of your comfort zone?
“Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,” (Neruda)
—I guess you will see, as you feel me walk away.
By Jennifer McGeever
Written on the night of a full moon, feature image taken by Florence Chau in Vancouver, Canada.