Tag Archives: wife

Wife (2009)


Your hand on my breast
wakes me to the sound of
your sleep. I take delight in
this familiarity: your
warm skin blanketing me
from the coldness of this
space we call ours. I squeeze your
hand against my breast,
waking you to the sound of my

fever. Time quickens with
every bead of sweat and
sigh of breath. You whisper

a lie: “You are
a goddess,” with each thrust that cuts
deeper with every stroke of lust. I fall
into your arms, weak yet

unfulfilled. Time is shortened
by the clock’s jealous whining.
You get off the bed, scrambling
to get dressed.

I try to loosen the knot of your tie,
coaxing you back under the sheets
with me. But you are done
composing yourself: cleverly

clad in a perfectly-tailored suit (I gave you as
a gift): you make decency look so easy
to reclaim.

You slip a silver band
around your finger. A faint light
from the window touches it: the brilliance
blinds me for a moment. You

crouch down to give me
a kiss. You whisper
a confession: “I cannot stay
for dinner.” I light a cigarette
as you walk out the door

in silence. The clock’s jealous whining breaks

my stupor. Acquiescent, I lay
in bed. I try to fake
a smile and whisper
a truth: “I am your goddess;

she is your wife.”

– 09 February 2009
– 3rd installment of my “Wife” series

“She is solid.

As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.”
— from Anne Sexton’s For My Lover Returning to His Wife

Advertisements
Tagged , , ,

Wife (2006)


At least you came home.
On your way in, you asked for dinner and
a kiss. I hesitated,
but lightly brushed my lips
against your cheek, and whispered,
“It’s on the table.”

I won’t be able to re-heat it for you
this time. The microwave is broken.
You’re never around to fix it, and I’ve
never been good at fixing things.

You can throw the dishes in the trash or
just leave
them on the sink.
There’s no water to wash your mess
tonight. The tank has dried up.

I’m off to bed. By the way,
you should take something home for dinner
tomorrow. I’ll be out shopping.

2006
you can find this in UP Quill’s literary folio, “Sitting Amok” — 15th volume.

Tagged , , , , ,

Wife (2004)


Once again the rooster’s crows beat you
to the gate. I watch you from a corner as you wobble
towards this house
I maintain to be home for your
returns: three-course meals; hot baths; a
warm bed you’ve avoided since you’ve
discovered the convenience of the sofa.

You reek of alcohol and cheap perfume
from another visit to the red light district.
I stand patiently at my corner,
               waiting. My shadow dances
under the flickering
light in your presence. (Do you even notice?)
You concentrate on your stagger and
as you near my corner, you stop

to lean soft and warm against my
stiff cold body. And
                            I feel,
again, how it is to glow
like the vibrant strobes in your red city of lights.
Your breath reminds me of ripe chicos, of
an appealing bitter sweetness.
I move closer to your face.
               But before I could taste the liquor from your
lips, you open your mouth, let me taste
the leftovers of what you had for
dinner, instead.

2004
this is included in UP Quill’s literary folio, “Sitting Amok” — 13th volume — under the pseudonym, “Eva de Matta”.

Tagged , , , , ,