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.