“And did you get what you wanted
from this life? Even so, I did.
What did you want? To call myself
Beloved, to be beloved on this earth.”
--Raymond Carver
Call Me Beloved
All I wanted was to be called Beloved.
You can say friend and it chimes true
as the wind chimes on the balcony
in a night of tears reminding me
out beyond my self there is the wind,
there is an arroyo, stars and a
highway to a land I have yet to see.
All I wanted was to hear the word Beloved
softy whispered like a child
saying, “I want my mommy,” the sleep
still flushed on her cheeks and mine
the only lap in sight
I wanted to chew that word like
a croissant in a French café
warm and flaky in a blue dish
and no one across the table but you,
leaning towards each other in the midst
of a language we do not understand
but are illuminated by like light
through a window made of stained glass
I wanted that word to follow me down
the aisle of the movie theater
your hand on my back and the popcorn
spilled and crunchy at the first sign
of laughter, our shoulders meeting in
common accord that it is we who
bought the tickets and choose
this place beside one another
All I wanted was to be called Beloved
out of gratitude, like a prayer,
not the name given to me by a
distraught teen-aged mother, but to hear
the sound of my real name in your mouth,
my calling, my destiny, to stand
in the place where I am both
mirror and veil
