Two Micros on Love

“Love is an action, a participatory emotion. Whether we are engaged in a process of self-love or of loving others we must move beyond the realm of feeling to actualize love. This is why it is useful to see love as a practice.” - bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions

This past weekend Jennifer and I went to The WWPH Capital Love LitFest which was a day-long literary salon of workshops, literary discussions, and readings. The hosts began the day quoting bell hooks. I instantly heard my mother reminding young versions of my brother and me that love was a verb.

The event inspired me to share these slivers on love.

I.

I usually eat grapes at home, but today* I packed some grapes in a sandwich bag to eat in the car.

These green globes revealed a past world. Thirty years ago, I lived with my grandfather and aunt for several months. I had just moved to New Orleans for school and didn’t have on-campus housing.

On N. Tonti Street, my grandfather cooked red beans and rice, smothered pork chops, kielbasa sausages that curved upwards in a pan on a gas stove and cornbread in a cast iron skillet in the oven. Heinekens lined the ice box shelves, as did “something soft to drink,” coke and sprite, for me.

When I first moved, before I got the lay of the land, my grandfather made lunch for me to take to school. I was 19 and in college. Included were juicy robust marbles ready to burst through the plastic they were confined to.

Today’s grapes in the transparent bag brought back the moment, and I felt the care and attention of his heart, and I sat with his love.

It also reminded me of sitting at the table with my mother and her siblings. I listened to them talk about their grandparents and great-grandfather.

My mother remembered walking home from George Washington Carver Jr. High. En route she passed her grandmother’s house on Piety Street as she made her way to Benefit Street where she lived.

I watched my mother’s face remember the taste of “fry bread made in a skillet” Mama Clara had prepared for her. Delight in the memory filled the space.

She also seemed to smell the blackberry cobbler her mother made from the blackberries growing in their back yard.

A tiny moment in a busy life gave way to memories of food as communion and love.

*May 19, 2026.

II.

“Some psycho girlfriend answered a long rhapsodic letter I’d written her with this terse, humiliating rebuff, ‘Next time, write to me.’” Maggie Nelson shared Wayne Koestenbaum’s experience in her book The Argonauts.

As I read these words, I thought of him, Samuel* and the earrings he bought me. Two years in a row, but several years after we’d broken up. Never while we were together.

Who was he buying the earrings for? Were they for himself? To prove he still loved me, by spending X amount of dollars on a woman he wasn’t in a relationship with? Were they for a person who only existed in his mind- and who he’d mistaken for me?

I eventually asked him why he sent me earrings.

He responded: “Buying you earrings was my way to communicate with you how much I love you.”

* a pseudonym

I would love to hear about moments of love in your life. What acts conveyed love to you? Or what moments were about the other person? Or anything in between; let’s have a love fest in the comments.