Runner-Up in Poetry at the 2025 contest: Our Own World
Argentinain oak barrel
i’ve lived, i’ve laughed, i’ve loathed
meddling the affairs of passing gods
i’ve thought, i’ve traced, i’ve tried
understanding the stranger’s passing nods
so fundamental it may be
yet it eludes me.
it is everywhere:
in the air,
sitting in the tree,
on faces live and fair
so intrinsic it may be
yet it eludes me.
the strangers think me heartless
they say i befoul its name
forgotten it within the darkness of my soul
i remember it now; i never forgot
so elusive Love may be
Love does not elude me
but i do not love in that way. not in the way
she is to him and he is to her
and he is to him and she is to her
and you are to they and they are to you
the way i Love pertains to ferns and rocks
to lupines and budding indigo
to viewing sunset from a dock of argentinian oak
seeded a midsummer night’s dream ago
the gods cease to love when the name ceases to apply
the strangers nod in condolence
whether for me or themselves, i cannot tell
for i can Love, but i cannot love; they can love, but they cannot Love.
How do you explain the color red to someone who has never seen color? Well, you could say it's an intense color like . . . orange . . . but more . . . red? Likewise, how do you explain what it's like to have never had a crush, or fallen in love, to someone whose entire existence has been centered around it?
Most people see romance the same way; it is coveted, special, and a life without it is worse than no life at all. However, for a small but not insignificant group of people, romance is like Santa Claus, visiting everyone except for them. But unlike Santa Claus, romance is just a myth.
This poem explores the world of love through the lens of an aromantic. It shows that a lack of romantic feelings does not mean a lack of heart. It shows that though alloromantics and aromantics see the world so differently, they can both love in their own way. And most importantly of all, it shows that I really, really like Argentinian oak.