Around this time of year, I would usually be trawling the web for the best Comic Sans MS Valentine’s Day cards. My hobby started in early high school, but in senior year I went from simple curation/collection to creating ones of my own, so that by the end of college my pursuit had spiraled into a massive undertaking involving an Excel spreadsheet and a rip-off version of Photoshop. In the name of professionalism, I have since put those days behind me, so here instead are 14 of my favorite love poems to prep you for the 14th. Because of that, this post is longer than usual—if you’d like to digest it more advent calendar style, I suggest reading 1 or 2 of the poems each day? (If you want to make this a drinking game, take a shot every time I use the words “I like” or “I love.”) But far be it from me to dictate how you consume your media. Onwards!
If you’ve ever cheered on a sports game: “Bulls vs. Suns, 1993” by José Olivarez:
I will spare you the essay-long detour into how my relationship with basketball is intimately connected to my relationship with my dad and just say: this poem is a banger. The line, “heart loving what you love,” is so simple but cuts right to the quick of how we love things purely for the people attached to them. So many of the things I care about have come to me secondhand, by way of a friend or family member. And the work this poem is doing in its exploration of love and validation! How many of us have been told love is unconditional? How many of us will break our backs feeling like we have to prove ourselves anyways? “my heart / running suicides to be in your heart’s hall of fame” captures the pain and fatigue inherent in our striving, and also acknowledges that like any kind of sport or exercise, that striving has a purpose. Our bodies adapt. The running and the layup drills become easier. We sharpen and get better over time, all with the goal of being able to say to the other person: look what I can be, look what I can do for you.
If you believe in reincarnation or like entertaining theories of the multiverse: “Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem” by Bob Hicok:
Irrelevant side story: sophomore year of college I joined my first stage production since the fourth grade. We were allowed to audition with any memorized piece, not just a theater monologue, and I chose this poem. I’ve always read the lines “Perhaps I am somewhere patient, / somehow / kind”—as two-fold: the speaker hypothesizing about a version of himself that is more patient and kinder than he is in his current existence, but also an interpretation where “somewhere patient” alludes to a more patient place, “somehow kind” as a reference to a kinder time. What might those settings look like? We’re primed for these imaginings through Hicok’s mention of “theres and elsewheres,” and it’s interesting to see the slight differences each possesses. And then you get to that kicker of an ending: “When I don't touch you it's a mistake in any life, / in each place and forever.” I’m not beholden to the idea of singular soulmates, but I do like the belief that there are some people whose absence in our lives ripple outwards, that we are irrevocably changed by knowing or not knowing them.
If you’ve ever considered drunk-texting an ex: “One Last Poem for Richard” by Sandra Cisneros:
Sandra Cisneros has a special place in my heart for her connection with San Antonio, especially her clash with the San Antonio Historic and Design Review Commission over the color of her house. This poem burrows through the hurt of a breakup to find the kernels of kindness at its center—that remnant of love that lingers when you both know the split was for the better but also have the distance to appreciate what you once had. (Also, can we talk about how “drunk and sentimental, crazed and kamikaze, ripe for anarchy” is a delicious sequence of descriptors that perfectly describes how it feels to have your finger poised over the send button at 1 AM? *Insert Elmo on Fire GIF*)
If you’re tired of mind games (or, conversely, if you really enjoy them): “I Guess We’ll Have to Be Secretly in Love with Each Other & Leave It at That” by Rosebud Ben-Oni:
I’m a fan of the poetic device where the title leads into the first line of the poem and/or acts as a line unto itself, which Ben-Oni tends to do in a lot of her work. The repetition of “to” gives the air of raising a glass or dedicating an ode, and while the poem is incredibly full of detail, it also shrouds itself in mystery. All these stories mean something, but mainly as a secret code to the intended. I like how the speaker of this poem is content with never consummating the relationship. Yes, the will-they/won’t-they/do-they-feel-the-same dance can be exasperating, but it’s also an electrifying liminal space. That feeling is captured acutely in the lines “To should go home. To leaving it / the longest way”—that part of the evening when you’re with someone and neither of you wants to say goodbye, the reminder that some types of love are not about the destination so much as they are about the journey.
If you’ve ever bought someone the perfect gift: “Mountain Dew Commercial Disguised as a Love Poem” by Matthew Olzmann:
It is not just because I am an anxious driver that the lines “Because you drove me to the train station. You drove me / to Minneapolis. You drove me to Providence” are unbearably romantic to me, although I will freely admit that somebody once offered to park for me and it remains on my list of top ten most romantic gestures to this day. I think the thesis of this poem can be summed up in its lines:
Because when you read
that essay about Rilke, you underlined the whole thing
except the part where Rilke says love means to deny the self
and to be consumed in flames.
This poem’s great act of love is through its celebration of the speaker’s significant other. All the specificity serves to say, I don’t want your self reduced or denied through your love of me—if anything, my loving you heightens your singularity. But that singularity isn’t selfishness. It makes sacrifices. Love is in the details, in realizing that somebody was listening to that thing you thought no one heard you say. May we all be so lucky to have people who know us so intimately.
If you are prone to imagining “what ifs”: “The Woman Who Turned Down the Date with the Cherry Farmer” by Aimee Nezhukumatathil:
Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s poetry often feels to me like cracking open a window and marveling at how much sunlight and fresh air streams in. Plenty of people have stories about the one that got away, but I like that this one isn’t mournful so much as it is wondrous. You can practically taste the summertime on your tongue. Also, jubilee is a fun word to say.
If you’ve ever said, “I swear they look better in person”: “Meeting” by Noor Naga:
I like how the speaker subtly negs the addressee of this poem (“you were not pretty do / not think you are pretty”) and how it’s all a front for how nervous she is. First dates are hard! Noor Naga excellently captures how so much of attraction boils down not to appearance but to the little gestures a person might not even be conscious of as they move through the world (“when you shook snow off your coat using your shoulders alone”). I love the way this poem refuses punctuation and relies on spacing to hold its breathlessness, kind of the way talking to someone you really like feels, that stop and start where you’re trying to make space for each other while at the same trying to get your own words in so you can impress them into seeing you again. And the way the last line transforms the relationship between speaker and addressee, allowing this wealth of comfort to flood in: “you laughed and laughing snorted so she would know you had once been a boy.” Imagining someone as a kid is the fastest path toward fondness; it triggers something both joyous and protective in me. We were all goofy and unpolished once. If a crush ever showed me a baby pic or went so far as to trust me with an image of them as an awkward pre-teen with braces and glasses, I would probably fall in love on the spot.
[surprise, this was all just an elaborate set-up so I could share a photo of my younger self engaged in my favorite hobby: holding my sister hostage]
For the love that’s intricately tied to loss: “Psalm One” by Mahmoud Darwish:
As one of the premier Palestinian poets, Darwish drew heavily upon themes of exile in his work. The love in “Psalm One” is one that has seen occupation (“When the soldiers abandon the palms of my hands / I will write something”) and seeks a homeland: “Woman who has placed the shores of the Mediterranean / in her lap, the gardens of Asia / on her shoulders.” Reading this poem always gives me a twisty hollow feeling inside, like the silence that haunts you after a bell or gong has been struck, when the vibrations are still in the air and you can sense the sound even when you can’t hear it anymore.
For the heartbreak you never really got over: “Nearly a Valediction” by Marilyn Hacker:
Sometimes, some people just fuck you up, and you’re left living with it. I like that as disastrous and devastated as this poem starts (“I was happened to / like an abandoned building by a bulldozer”), it ends up somewhere close to tender, with a shift halfway through that allows the speaker to assume some agency and accountability in the relationship.
If you’re feeling the domestic and/or cozy cohabitation vibes: “when you have forgotten Sunday: the love story” by Gwendolyn Brooks:
Time is a construct, but Sunday mornings are definitively the most romantic part of the week, as supported by Maroon 5, Chance the Rapper, and also this playlist I made (#shameless promo, but last year Spotify Wrapped called me a “tastemaker” and my ego has only inflated since). This poem takes us through Sunday evening, that point when you must fortify yourself for the week ahead, and the solace that comes from knowing that at the beginning or the end of it you have someone with which to share a life.
If you’re always forgetting what you were just about to say: “A Dwelling in the Evening Air” by Aleda Shirley (copied below, please forgive the formatting):
A few months ago, I mentioned the snippet of this poem that I carry with me always. Well, shoutout to Erin and Liza for tracking down the rest of it and confirming that it’s just as gorgeous in its entirety.
It is extremely fitting that this poem is part of the collection long distance: poems because God knows most of us are in that sustained limbo lately. What I like best about Shirley’s piece is the way it captures what speaking to someone you’re close with is like—that point where it’s not about “catching up” or “how’s life?” and instead becomes an unending conversation that you can re-enter at any point.
If you’re prone to sending article shares: “Delphiniums in a Window Box” by Dean Young:
Chock-full of yearning, this poem is a more elegant exploration of how “This reminded me of you” is an entire love language.
If you secretly dread seeing everyone’s “this is my significant other” social media blitz: “Missed Time” by Ha Jin:
Valentine’s Day can be gimmicky. It makes love into an occasion that must be documented through flowers, chocolates, balloons. Love poetry, too, also consecrates the loved one in a plane that can feel removed from the day to day, the actual work of living alongside and caring for someone. Every writer or artist faces this conundrum: when we’re so worried about how we’re going to depict a moment later, it takes us out of the event in real-time, making us more stage managers than participants. It’s a natural instinct—we all want to protect ourselves against loss. Why not leave a record? Why not declare to the world how much you feel about this person all the time? But that’s the magic of Ha Jin’s piece: the speaker exists in a realm removed from this fear. It is a happiness so complete it eliminates the need to commemorate it, and in doing so the speaker sheds all the weight the outside world might burden him with—legacies and writing and meaning-making—and blesses the time spent with his lover.
For when you really really really just miss the homies: “Acknowledgements” by Danez Smith:
Friendship is love, and this poem sets a high bar. My favorite writing bridges the irreverent with the heartfelt, and Smith does that masterfully. The fact that lines like “your fart is news” and “you are the drug that knocks the birds from my heart” exist in the same poem! Nobody is doing it like them! I won’t spoil the ending of this piece, but it feels like resurfacing after you’ve just gulped a lungful of water, and as soon as you can breathe again you’re laughing because despite your entire life flashing before your eyes, you’re alive.
xoxo thanks for bearing with me - ‘til next time! <3