New poem for Valentine's Day

The Main Event

--for Matt, with tremendous gratitude and love

For a month or two
my muscles and skeleton
have been in a fight
and you’ve been ringside
hollering holds
and throwing
elaborate curses
‘though it’s a draw
every night.

After each match
you wipe my mouth
of hardway blood
and rub me down,
whisper “you got this, baby”
into my hair.
You be the enforcer,
I’ll be the babyface.
This is how we tag team.
This is how you love me now.

Maybe I shouldn’t have
chosen Frida Kahlo
as my spirit animal.
Maybe I should have
sat up straight,
ditched the horn long ago
(my beautiful albatross
whose voice I love second
only to yours)         
But there’s no time
for regret when
one is in training.

It’s the main event
and I’ve laced my new boots
and pose in my leotard.
“Take my picture
before the match,”
I ask. You refuse,
saying I am more beautiful
when I have wrestled hard
and stand up again.