Hon or We have both traveled from the other side of some hill, one side of which we may wish we could forget

Love me stupid.
Love me terrible.
And when I am no
mountain but rather
a monsoon of imperfect
thunder love me. When
I am blue in my face
from swallowing myself
yet wearing my best heart
even if my best heart
is a century of hunger
an angry mule breathing
hard or perhaps even
hopeful. A small sun.
Little & bright.


Copyright © 2019 by Anis Mojgani. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 14, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“I wrote “Hon…” a few years ago, probably during the summer of 2014, towards the end of my marriage. It was born out of that place I imagine we all sometimes find ourselves in––where the love we may have with another becomes clouded over, becomes hidden and hard to see. We want for both our loved one and ourselves to take the hurt and anger and sorrow and pain and the want and the worthlessness––all that we dress our hearts in––and see through all that to the love that assuredly is breathing between the two, hoping it will be what can return us both to ourselves.”
—Anis Mojgani