Love Is Blood, Love Is Fabric


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Love Is Blood, Love Is Fabric is a book of poetry fluidly interweaving poems that are simultaneously independent and connected to each other. The author meditates on issues such as grief, dysfunctional systems, complex romantic relationships, the difficulties of intimacy, plus the value of a person’s deepest intuitions, even as the world sees them as insanity. The poetics of Love Is Blood, Love Is Fabric opens the door of the forbidden and the sublime with spiritual and psychological resonances throughout. As the speaker navigates her experiences of love, loss, regret, deliverance, and sacrifice, she concludes that every moment is just a juncture in the continuation of a journey. At the end of this series of poems, the beloved walks away but the speaker has gained “the world” in terms of an unapologetic adherence to her own truth. She asks the only questions worth asking: How can her newfound self-acceptance transform her surroundings and the people around her? How can she spread more love and understanding? These questions wouldn’t have been meditated on — or even brought into form — without the awakening in her heart sparked by the beloved.


I Had Something to Tell Him

I had something to tell him,

something like the interstices

between tree branches at dawn and dusk,

the peak between the in-breath and the out,

a whisper formless and formed only when his eyes,

his contours, evaded me.

If Love is Fabric, If Love is Blood

You stand under street lamps in a blue suede suit.

Take beating like a sparrow.




                                                                                   under feet




                                                                       black street

You straighten your tie,

walk toward me.

If love is fabric, if love is blood, what’s me & you?

You stare, through sparrow eyes,

something between us moves.

When I Loved You

The day you wrote your number for me on a piece of tape,

people shook their heads and whispered:

She’s gone off the deep end.

You were raw, dark, uninhibited.

You told me you were done trying to impress people.

You apologized for being so boring.

It’s funny, that’s why I admired you.

We’d sit on your porch in the fall.

Watch the leaves – red and orange –

scatter to the ground.

You asked me what it was like

having everything planned.

I didn’t answer, only wanting

to hold you and soften the look in your eyes,

which were too still and too sad.

I didn’t know that something too sweet

could start to taste bitter.

That I could open my heart in ways

that made me fear myself.

You tried to hurt me with words.

Told me, you deserve better.

You should get out of this town.

I did and never stopped thinking about you.

I could live in the most exotic place,

in the most well-to-do part of town,

and still miss that spot on your steps,

the honor of your silence.

Now, sitting on my porch in the fall,

I listen to the sounds of an empty street.

I didn’t know how to tell you I love you.

Something like simplicity,

and the falling of leaves.

About the author

Mary De la Fuente is a former teacher for the San Antonio Independent School District in Texas. She is earned a Master of Arts in English with a concentration in creative writing from Binghamton University. Her work has appeared in the San Diego Poetry Annual every year since 2015 to present. view profile

Published on November 30, 2020

Published by Atmosphere Press

7000 words

Worked with a Reedsy professional 🏆

Genre: Poetry

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