History of Love

THE HISTORY OF LOVE

Cheryl Lynn Ray

 2026

For Andrew and Kevin

These poems were written between 1990 and 2013. Together they tell the story of how my understanding of love changed over time. The unchanging and overwhelming love I have for my sons is a different story.

Contents

Creating (1990)

The History of Love (1993)

The Dancers (2001)

A Thought (2001)

I Live (2001)

A Happy Place (2001)

Those Words (2004)

Pink Slip (2008)

Where Does It Go? (2009)

Finally (2013)

---------(1990)

Creating

(why it never stops)

Settling in, Settling on,

Settling over and around.

Settling up, settling for,

But never settling down.

1990 C. M.

The History of Love

Once upon a time,

before I came to believe

love was a calculated risk,

I would have lost my life

for passion.

My heart, once broken,

now sits silently

inside a cavity of steel,

untouchable.

Calculations replaced

dreams of someone

like George Bailey

who would lasso the moon

just for me.

C. Morgan 1993

The Dancers

(For grandmother and grandaddy)

The music has softened now,

its melody gray

as a January day.

Together they move

through steps learned

over a lifetime,

their dance shaped

by lean years

and faithful hearts.

Death is taking numbers.

Soon,

it will call theirs.

The temptation is to fear,

to grieve,

to beg the music

to play forever.

Yet their final dance

has the same quiet beauty

as a waddling pregnant woman—

both carrying

what cannot be hurried,

one toward birth,

the other toward home.

Lucky them.

No squalling hunger.

No hard years

spent eking out a living.

Only the grace

of a life

completely danced.

CM 2001

This is a mouse pad I had printed with a rock I painted with a likeness of Jesus, next to part of a poem I wrote once upon a time.

A Thought

I think that God
is simply love,
alive in you and me.
Turn away,
and emptiness
is all that's left to see.

I serve love.
It is my work.
I choose it
every day.
Its presence
guides my every step
along a very
human way.

CM 2001

I Live

In between men

I live

in the silence

between

Good riddance!

and

Hello there!

I can breathe and think and live,

in between men.

CM 2001

A Happy Place

(for a friend mad at love)

I have worked
for these sunrises—

glorious,
joy-filled—

outside my grubby city window.

I have stumbled
like a drunkard
through the streets,

screaming at the gods,

until I realized

I was screaming
at myself.

I have bled from my pores
for this peace of mind.

Then I found

my happy place.

That,

I cannot give you.

You will hurt
in places
you never knew existed.

You may blame
the world

until at last

you are left

with the only one
who can change it.

Then,

you will make

your happy place.

And when you find it,

I just might

be there too.

CM 2001

Those Words

Those words are leaping around

inside my mouth,

dancing a jig upon my tongue,

straining

to squeeze past my teeth,

but waiting

behind

my bashful lips.

CLR 2004

Pink Slip

(for Raymond)

I have loved you

for ten thousand years,

with your blessing,

and at your feet.

Though all wisdom and reason said no,

I lay chained,

a loyal servant,

at your feet.

Lessons learned,

I stood

and walked away,

yet hotly tossed them aside

at your familiar touch,

your voice,

your smile,

and at your feet.

One true feeling

bound me fully,

blighted by the devil's laughter—

a haunting blues melody

inside my heart.

I have loved you

more than any

who dared to enter

all four chambers

of my heart.

Rugged Love,

take your pink slip.

Our work

in this lifetime

is done.

You will always remain

inside my heart,

haunting

as a warning,

so that

in the next life,

I will see you coming

and turn away,

never again

to lay

at your feet.

CLR  2008

Where Does It Go?

(For the family)

Hers for her sister.
His for his son.
Where does this love go
when it comes undone?

He for his mother.
She for her man.
Can anger consume
what love first began?

Where does it go?
it’s gone with the sun.
When love disappears,
does it live on?

Have we mistaken
what love can do?
Or does love remain
when all else is through?

CLR • 2009

Finally

I know you. You have been

a seed, unfolding inside me.

You have been a whisper

in my ear, for decades.

I recognize your voice

from forever,

and revel

in the cadence

which in itself

tells me that you

are me.

CLR 2013

---------

I am you

And you are me

And we are

Us

And

Them.

C.M. 1990

---------

True Love

Every once in a while, In my mind, I roll over and touch a good memory of you just to make sure it’s still there. I gently probe around our tragedy, just to make sure of its honesty. And satisfied, I roll back over to now and feel grateful for the experiments in this life, which is all any of us can claim to be.

Processing

I give rock offerings to the gods

as I dance away from the Prehistoric Predators, happy that

these prison guards have no power over my scratchings on rocks.

No data, no goals, no mission and vision statement.

I bless the patrons with my smooth rocks and hope they will be my Pardoners.

And as I tiptoe through alleys and quiet streets, I drop offerings to show I do not hate.

People of my town, won't you please pardon me for being myself?

Cray 2022

These are rocks that Heidi Otis and I decorated for Dachshund on Parade, June 18th in Ellensburg.

On Being a Woman

Just a thought—Sanitary napkins aren’t very sanitary, are they? They are super gross. A big, thick bunch of paper product wadded up between the sweaty thighs of a menstruater. Ew. Blood gushing out. She can feel it as it leaves her vagina! Right there in front of everyone. It kind of goes…PloP…but she reminds herself there is no need to panic. She has no tampons in, so it’s not a leak, it’s just an earth shattering ‘PloP’. The thick lining of her uterus, devoid of its purpose, removes itself—PloP right into the awaiting sanitary napkin— in front of everyone.

She suspects there’s a smell, too, from the extra attention she’s catching from the boys. "No Big Deal", says the tampon commercial as the bikini clad teen frolics about joyfully.

To accept the bloody wad, she sometimes imagines she’s riding bareback or with a saddle-pad put there expressly to catch the rotted lining of her uterus. But no. She’s just walking down the hall, thinking that it’s time to use a tampon.

A tampon.

Someday she will stick a wad of dry white cloth up there instead. Or use a pretty pink plastic tool meant to shoot it up there painlessly…bearing teeth that will bite if her aim and touch is off.

Then, she has learned that if she feels that PloP, she will know for sure there is blood running down her leg, reminding her for better or worse that she has not made a baby this month.

These two rocks depict her cycle and her visitor.

Aunt Flo visited every 28 days which she either hated or appreciated deeply. It was never ‘no big deal’ like she said. It was an emotional and physical event that happened in broad daylight, her power and her handicap. Like a magic fairy, taking a shit in public.