Creative Writing

The Unmarried Wife

I hear a click and a clang of keys as the door unlocks downstairs

Perhaps it’s the unmarried man that shares my bed at night

I turn over and think about him, while he does his bit down there

Again. I focus hard but I’ve forgotten what he looks like.

I wait for him, I stay awake in the hope of some intimacy

I fix my hair and lick my teeth and wait a little longer

I become petite on one side of the bed and slightly straighten the sheets

What takes so long for him to come up here from downstairs, I wonder.

He wallows there or so it sounds; lethargy lifts me from reality.

When I wake he’s by my side, or at least the half of him I see.

It’s my turn to rise up now, ready for the work ahead of me

I’m a stay-at-home, who cooks and cleans and wifes about the house

When I’m done I catch my breath and watch my husband leave

He walks away, no words exchanged – except my prayer for my spouse.

For recently it’s been quite good, I haven’t heard his voice in months

It’s ending soon, I know the signs. It happens this way with all my loves

I’m ready though, I think, to let go and consistently take my medicine

My doctor says I’m to tell noone or they’d lock me again in the asylum.

So please, for me, as I speak keep all I say a secret

The 32 loves I’ve had, hereditary, life long and recent.


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