Valentine, by Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,

if you like.Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.

I've never celebrated Valentine's, maybe because it's not an old Romanian tradition and because all the commercial part makes me sick...and also maybe because I've never felt that the person I was with deserved that kind of celebration. The idea of celebrating love is so wonderful that I've always felt I'd be untrue to it if I treated it conveniently, and superficially, that it will turn out to be some kind of...Christmas. This year I'll spend it by myself, and I am wondering...even if the person I'm seeing would be in town...would I want to give him a present as a symbol for Valentine? And the simple mere thought of it makes me feel good. Doubt is good, doubt is the doorway to every possible path, it questions things and questions are a child's toy while growing up, and as long as there are questions there will always be answers.

I've always liked this poem, it's truthful. It's an open answer, and an open question.

Well, Happy Valentine's to all whom will happen to read this little post.