Between the Lines
An homage to the literary lesbians who dared to speak.
I am alone, lost. I wander restlessly through these dusty tomes, not sure of what I seek. Sappho intercedes for me. Deathless Aphrodite…Daughter of Zeus, O terrible enchantress/With this sorrow, with this anguish, break my spirit….
Of course, Aphrodite! Speak to your son Eros and remove this arrow which pierces me. It is rather inconvenient, engaged as I am. And she is like me. If I speak true of my feelings, I will lose her. Yet, when I look in her eyes, I see…something. So, like Laudomia Forteguerri, I beseech you. Nor do I want anything else but that you keep me close to my goddess.
I understand now Toklas’s fond reference to Stein as “Mr Cudwuddle.” Like she and she, we say How do you do? And will you pleas [sic] accept more of the same every day in every way more and more and more. Can you suspect how much I love you....
We had a few short months before life separated us. In that time of youthful abandon, we squandered passion and named it friendship. Not that in our own way we did not know; we just…couldn’t. Radclyffe Hall said it well: The world hid its head in the sands of convention, so that by seeing nothing it might avoid Truth.
I began the next phase with a road trip. The hours, they pass in mindless abandon.… All the while, I think of you/ Another line on the road/ Another line on the table/ And still the distance cannot shake you…I capitulate to you/ Next town, Truth or Consequences…I hate that game. (Even the author can be a poet.)
Days became months, months became years. As we played in our soccer-mom worlds, we excelled at avoiding the truth. Husbands and children, where are you now? Oh, we’ve moved to NOLA. You? Tucson. Like an Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore…we can go shopping, or play at a game of constantly being wrong with a priceless set of vocabularies....
There were intimate moments, drawbridges lowered in the heat of desire, masked as platonic affection. Emboldened, I stole the idea from H.D…what is a kiss between friends?/ friends take and forget/ but I will/ and you will not/ how can I cope.… In the morning’s harsh light, I could see the drawbridge sealed, the gulf between us reinforced.
With the physical distance between us, I thought I could bury those feelings. I flirted with others, followed the dance steps to the uncivil rules of attraction. I mapped out alternate futures, visualized different lives. Yet, all I would need was a fleeting glimpse of an old photo and the insatiable longing would flood me. You were so right, Iris Murdoch, I wanted, with a desire greater than any desire which I had ever conceived could exist without instantly killing its owner by spontaneous combustion, something which I simply could not have.
Then life interceded. The events of 9/11 hit each of us in unique, visceral ways. For me, I was no longer keeping my future on hold. I would reach for the brass ring. I had Audre Lorde by my side. The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us…. And there are so many silences to be broken.
I would love to say that in articulating how I felt, immediate reciprocity occurred. But the Midwest normalization of what is right had permeated her world. She said she could feel it, but she certainly couldn’t see it. I had such optimism, however, having just been schooled with dear Emily. Wild nights—Wild nights!/ Were I with thee/ Wild nights should be/ Our luxury!...Rowing in Eden-/ Ah - the Sea!/ Might I but moor—tonight—/ In thee!
Yet the rough seas between us only grew darker. All the ease with which we had moved disappeared. Every attempt written or voiced ended with frustration. I was losing her. After decades of always us, I feared our story would be reduced to annual Christmas cards. Lady Gaga played in my head: I’ve got a hundred million reasons to walk away/ But, baby, I just need one good one to stay.
She always said it might take her forever to make up her mind, but once she did, there was no turning back. I’ll say this, it was painful watching her sit on the fence for as long as she did. I still can’t say when the language went from denial to “we’ll see.” Finally, the moment arrived For the Goddess Too Well Known…. I have brought her, laughing, to my quietly dreaming garden. For what will be done there, I ask no man pardon....
We always joke how we would like to thank all the men who made ‘us’ possible. To be quite fair, in the demise of any relationship, there is plenty of blame to share. Certainly, there are men who truly did champion us and protected the newly growing garden. But perhaps my cousin Paulie said it best: Everyone needs a little wifey. ▼
Sharon A. Morgan is a retired advanced practice nurse with over 30 years of clinical and healthcare policy background.