Husband to Be

Husband to Be

They ask you where your husband is
They ask me where your husband is
I ask you where your husband is

Was, when you were locked out, when it was 2 below and your daughter was sick and you were running out of gas driving around to keep the both of you warm
Never answered his cell—4 hours—
4 hours—didn’t have it on vibrate or blink or boast—whatever the new fangled accoutrements are—which he always has to have

and it wasn’t the first time
it wasn’t the 13th

And you called me. you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t,
but you did.
and I still had the key, a relict of 2 lives ago—
hanging on the hook —next to the door, your name still written in the green thick ink of a monte blanc—goodness I loved that pen

(No, Natasha bought it for me, with those avant-garde photos of the poodle woman)


And it started again, the coffee, the lunches, the matinees
The talk, the laughter,
I love your laugh, always have—I can hear echoes from 2 blocks away on the summer air and know it is you
Floating on the outer rings,
hovering between giggles and bright chortles,
which can only exhale from a woman who knows her worth with a sprightly nonconforming passion

when you fell—I came to the emergency
I came
It was me
The man you said you could not live without, that I was the rock you needed, the man who held your pegs in my crevices as you climbed

So why you decided that you needed to work harder for love, I don’t remember, my memories aren’t that deep…

we were easy

and love should be a painful endeavor?
Well, you found it-
a love wherein more than work is proscribed—where Herculean lifting is a prerequisite to its lasting
A daily bout of two souls, a knock-out required every few weeks
Breaking each other down, until neither is whole.

How is that more love?
how is that lasting?
Its demise predictable, obvious to all on the outside.

And the fall gave you a concussion and a broken foot
Your husband was attending that party you always hated,
and finally escaped for the first time in 7 years
The “associates” you had to build up
their egos filled two ballrooms, which was still never enough—and he didn’t want to waste his two hour drive and you said ok

but you were broken and I could heal you
you called and I came
I came to be with you.

Even in pain I love your presence, you keep my soul peculating
--not smothered with accessories and post- post modern conversations, which Natasha babbles about- without the benefit of an audience,
just with me –
just because it replenishes her superiority of edgy hipness

where was your husband when
when you fell in love with me again
where was he
not here

I am with you