Transcript

I’m Ada Limón and this is The Slowdown.

My mother was born on Valentine’s Day and because of that, I have oddly always loved Valentine’s Day. A day for candy hearts, cinnamon red hots, chocolate cake from the good bakery with my mom’s name on top. When I was younger I remember a ruckus birthday party full of friends and someone actually dressed up as cupid. Valentine’s Day could have been called my mom’s day.

As I got older, of course, the implications of Valentine’s Day were hard to unravel from. There were the cards I’d stay up late filling out so that I could give one to everyone in my class. And there were the days when other kids got more Valentine’s cards than me and I’d sulk. But it wasn’t until junior high when we all suddenly graduated to single red roses and secret love notes. That’s when Valentine’s Day started to feel a little dangerous. There was risk involved, careful confessions, and possible embarrassment.

Still, despite the absurd marketing, the overwhelming sea of red plastic that takes over the grocery and pharmacy aisles, I still love Valentine’s Day. I’ve celebrated alone and with my girlfriends, I’ve celebrated with my mom for her birthday, and I’ve celebrated with past loves, and I’ve celebrated with my husband. Last year, we watched the 90’s classic movie Singles, and ate steak we ordered from a downtown steakhouse and did our best to celebrate with each other.

I have friends who absolutely hate the day. Despise it. Hate every sickly sweet detail, all the pressure of last-minute flower purchases, overpriced dinners for two, the toxic mylar red balloon hubbub, the rhyming cards, the fake deadline...for love. And I get that, I do. I can see through it as much as the next person, but I still believe that at its core, it’s a day to recognize love. A day to send a note to someone, eye a new crush, make out, open champagne or sparkling apple cider, pop a cinnamon flavored gummy, and just remember for a moment that even if you’re not in love at the moment, love exists. That even when we don’t have love, there is the possibility of love.

In today’s poem, we see the possibility of love taking on a new sense of longing. The speaker knows that the Valentine wish she is sending is a little like sending a spell. She wants the woman on the other end of that spell to fall in love with her. She knows the weight of this wish and she knows the agony of waiting for an answer. And still she’s ready to send her Valentine into that great unknown of desire.

A Valentine
by Priscilla Jane Thompson

Out of the depths of a heart of love,
     Out of the birth-place of sighs,
Freighted with hope and freighted with fear,
     My all in a valentine, hies.
     Oh, frail little missive
            Of delicate texture,
     Speed thee, on thy journey,
            And give her a lecture! 

Fathom her heart, that seems to me, cold,
     Trouble her bosom, as mine,
Let it be mutual, this that I crave,
     Her ‘yes’ for a valentine.
     Oh, frail little missive,
            In coy Cupid’s keeping,
     Oh! speed back a message,
            To set my pulse leaping.