The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Robert Fillman
On date night my wife must choose
between love and food because her body will not allow her both, so I ask her to starve herself in one way so I can be satisfied in another. Last night I grew frustrated by her illness, selfishly imagining how every spoonful to her lips was a cold betrayal, willingness to twist with pain on the couch and not with me, heating pad strapped to her gut, the nausea setting in, all color drained from her face, as if each little swallow were another nail punching through the white skin of her breast. Now I'm left wondering if my depravity caused this crucifixion, how all she craved was a scoop of ice cream from the cafe down the street, how I will writhe in hell, be made to atone for these wicked thoughts, no saint to save me, no matter how badly I hunger for forgiveness. Learning to Listen
I remind both kids to be extra good today, insist their mother doesn't feel well, that she has to stay in bed— and hate myself for it. Kids should be able to be kids. But when my son suddenly leaps onto the couch and makes the springs cheep and squeak I snap, ask why he never listens, threaten to send him to his room alone if he doesn't stop, my voice breaking apart when I notice the redness of his cheeks, the tears that will follow. Then I consider how only moments before the three of us were huddled by the window watching four goldfinches peck at feeders on our porch, how my daughter said they were a family flitting about, their frank chirps a break from the hard silence. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |