I do: I will
A month since my mother's funeral
and my wife's eyes are telling her mouth
not to bring it up,
so loud that I can hear.
Her body whispers it dusk to dawn
as we lie huddled
in the bed we borrowed from her friend.
If I turn, allow her the space
to sneak closer, she will fill it
like water seeping in;
if I lie on my side, in seconds
there will be no room left
for me to return,
just body moving against mine,
looking for a crack to seep into.
All she wants is what I promised.
I stare at the wall waiting
for morning to catch up
and try to remember why
I thought I had so much to spare.
CL Bledsoe
Posted over on Canopic Jar
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