This is my first attempt at posting anything on this site. The poem by James Kavanaugh has always reminded me of Jane and Maura's relationship so I thought I'd share it with you all.
It is not my intention to claim any ownership or authorship of the poem or the characters of Rizzoli and Isles.
Jane knew she could never afford the luxurious tastes that Maura was used to but she was determined to make their first Christmas together special. She was going to put aside the reputation as a bad ass she had worked so hard to achieve, and show Maura a part of her few others knew existed.
Jane spent a great deal of her life trying to gain the respect of her peers. She wanted to be seen as as good as any man but too often this desire came in conflict with the softer, more artistic nature in Jane. Playing the piano and writing poetry weren't going to earn her any points with her coworkers in the male dominated police force.
But with Maura, Jane didn't have to pretend. She wasn't going to lose Maura's respect if she showed her a softer side. So often Jane used sarcasm as a shield. Words worked as weapons against a too often bitter and cruel world. Jane's worldview never seemed as harsh when facing the day with Maura by her side though.
So instead of buying a gift for the girl who could afford it all, Jane decided to make Maura's gift from the heart. The card was simple, purchased at a drug store for $2, but Jane hoped that what was inside would make up for it.
The photo tucked inside was taken by Frankie without either women noticing; too caught up in the bundle of fur sitting on Jane's lap who was reaching up to lick Maura's face. Jo Friday, Jane and Maura had been at the park sitting under a flowering tree lost in their own little world. The effortless joy and understanding present between the two women was certainly unique for the usually standoffish women. It wasn't a particularly memorable moment, but Frankie was able to capture the very essence of their relationship in that one picture.
The main gift consisted of a folded slip of paper on which Jane wrote the first poem she even considered showing anyone else since she was in a 7th grade creative writing class. The words came quickly to Jane who had already spent many restless nights trying to understand how Maura Isles came into her life and changed the very way Jane viewed the world. It was a declaration and a question wrapped into one. It was the story of Jane's life and how Maura fit so perfectly into it.
Who am I? I am not sure.
Once I was a rabbit's grave and a basketball hoop on
the garage, a cucumber patch, lilac trees and peonies crawling
with ants. I was stepping stones and a mysterious cistern,
grass fires, water fights and ping pong in the basement.
I was a picket fence, a bed and maple chest of drawers
I shared with brothers, a dog named Sandy who danced.
Friends were easy to find. We climbed trees, built grass huts,
chased snakes–and we dreamed a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond childhood.
Who am I? I am not sure.
Once I was predictable. I was educated, trained, loved–not
as I was, but as I seemed to be. My role was my safe
way of hiding. There was no reason to change. I was approved.
I pleased. Then, almost suddenly, I changed. Now I am less
sure, more myself. My role has almost disappeared.
My roots are not in my church, my job, my city;
even my world. They are in me. Friends are not so easy to find–
and I dream a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond Roles.
Who am I? I am not sure.
I am more alone than before. Part animal, but not protected
by his instincts or restricted by his vision. I am
part spirit as well, yet scarcely free, limited by taste and
touch and time–yearning for all of life. There is no security.
Security is sameness and fear, the postponing of life. Security
is expectations and commitments and premature death. I live
with uncertainty. There are mountains yet to climb, clouds
to ride, stars to explore and friends to find. I am all alone.
There is only me–and I dream a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond security.
Who am I? I am not sure.
I do not search in emptiness and need, but in increasing
fullness and desire. Emptiness seeks any voice to fill a void,
any face to dispel darkness. Emptiness brings crowds and shadows
easy to replace. Fullness brings a friend, unique, irreplaceable.
I am not as empty as I was. There are the wind and the
ocean, books and music, strength and joys within, and the
night. Friendship is less a request than a celebration, less
a ritual than a reality, less a need than a want.
Friendship is you and me–and I dream a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? Beyond need.
Who am I? I am not sure.
Who are you? I want to know. We didn't sell Kool-aid together or hitchhike to school. We're
not from the same town, the same God, hardly the same
world. There is no role to play, no security to provide, no
commitment to make. I expect no answer save your presence,
your eyes, your self. Friendship is freedom, is flowing, is
rare. It does not need stimulation, it stimulates itself. It trusts,
understands, grows, explores, it smiles and weeps. It does not
exhaust or cling, expect or demand. It is–and that is enough–
and it dreams a lot.
WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?
