Husband

I'll tell you a tale of a peculiar beast
The man who wed one day
That day, I know not why, sweat pouring down his face
He did not bother to correct
The way I did in error
Light the candle in the middle
I asked him why
He simply said "I wasn't going to correct you."

I'll tell you a myth of a man
That should be all sorts of wonderful things
Then I'll tell you the truth of a lovely man
Who today made chicken soup

There are so many times that I
Perhaps should keep my cool
So many moments when the mind reels at how he thinks
Not what he should be doing

Then I will think of many times I've trembled before others
Feeling less than secure
Not knowing how to fit in
So why do I have no control of hurtful things I've told him

Who is this beast and why is it
That days and years go by
When we do not connect at all
Heaping painful actions

Who knows what many years will bring
If we will be together
There are some times that bind us now
But, nothing bound us then
We could have walked away a million times

Somehow, we did not choose to.

The Problem With Illness

Yesterday she spent the day throwing up as I spent it helplessly trying to be of service.
All the while watching and waiting and hoping that it wouldn't affect anybody else.
Thankful that she wasn't having dry heaves.
Thankful each time that she leaned over the edge instead of needing another change of clothes.
I was running out of clothes.

Yesterday I went to bed early.
I couldn't tell if I was tired or sick.
Or sick and tired.

The day before yesterday everything was fine.
Today we had chicken noodle soup for breakfast and a big lunch.
Then HE got sick.
At least I didn't have to make dinner.
At least he threw up instead of just wanting to.
It's worse when you just want to.

Tonight they're all asleep.
Tomorrow maybe I'll be next.
Maybe I'll make a really long tonight so that tomorrow won't happen.

Each illness is unpleasant.
This isn't really illness if it passes in a day.

Doubt and Loathing

I'm not a good m....
I'm not a good w....
I'm not a good w....
I'm not a good p....

I have a short fuse.
I'm short on sleep.
I don't know how to love.
I'm filled with rage and doubt.

I'm disparate.
I'm desperate.
I have nobody.

I love nobody.

It isn't true. If it was true, it wouldn't matter.
I wouldn't be losing sleep over it.
I wouldn't toss and turn.
I wouldn't have regrets.

Nobody would have showed up even though I never thought they would.

How does one have no doubts.
Does that happen?

Something Else To Say

My head is filled with buzzing and noise. A whirlwind of activity. The idea of wind is what really strikes me at the moment. Iconic and poetic in its simple definition. So much all at once that nothing seems to stick long enough to explore further.

The day was spent ducking hourly vomit eruptions and thanking lucky stars that the other one seems to be safe for now. It would be worse if both sides were afflicted at the same time. What would I do then? Somehow, leaving the safety of home with all its amenities was exactly what I had to do to reach some sort of calm.

I expected some sort of sympathy and help. Well, I got the help. There's a price for everything, you know. Now, I have what I wanted all day but, it doesn't matter. I won't make the most of it. I can't. Not when the day starts with an urgent pitter-patter and then a sobbing "mommy, I threw up". "Where?" "In my room". Sob, sob.

It ended quietly, and calmly. Thank goodness for drugs. Especially the kind in liquid form. Especially when you didn't think they made the kind.

The bottom line is I want more... and less. Then, I cry about wanting something else, when this is already more than I could have had. Then I worry about losing what I have because I didn't value it. Now is the time to play on the floor instead of worrying about unfinished self-made promises.

The Wanting

Of Gods and Queens and finer things,
I do declare thee done.

Of Kings, bar maids, and dust mites,
My dreams are filled with thine.

Of suns and moons and silver slivers,
I peak into your mind.

Of love and lust and destiny,
For you I do decline.

Sunrise

Tell me
Tell me
What is true?
For I know not this day.
I blink
I cry
I fear to die
And yet I must away

A child's tears

I stay with great humility
That none should disagree
Her kisses are the best by far
In their simplicity

Each tear she sheds
Lead her astray
From mountains she must climb

Each fall, each drop
Cause her to bounce
Before the tears run dry

The urgent plea for one more hug
A testament, a swearing
Of oaths and bliss and honey bees
Her childhood and her glory