Wednesday, December 12, 2007

there was someone else through his flint glass

Sometimes I am in the way to be thinking that things of course will be fine. As Husband points out, but lovingly so, I let others conveniently enter and leave at their pace and I am the one who always gets hurt. For many reasons, there were many tears tonight.

So I wrote something not at all complete but it works well enough for me.

The Marriage Bed

I lay on his chest-
I breathe up
I breathe down-
A finger's stretch away from his nightdrawer
(and perfume samples, pens, scrap paper, my love notes, our junk)
I breathe in
I breathe out.

This good man's chest-
I lay here because he wants me, only a few letters difference from he lets me.
My husband is a keeper of my futures.
He calls the rain that hits our roof, grows
my collective garden;

He doesn't let on seeing the footpath the next morning
or the mudstreaks at the foot of the bed;
the steady disappearance of house trinkets.
My husband holds back nothing of me.
It is this, one day, I hope to actually see.

I plant this garden to not forget-
he sleeps beside me
It was foolish of me to come.
I will miss him forever when I go.

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