Wednesday, September 9, 2015

The Sigh Does Not Satisfy

The sad hot day in the drought and dry and the dead
No wind or breeze or motion and the sickly silence is crawling
I feel heavy and soft and listless and wait for the wife who will not come
There is no motion anywhere and my knee is pulsing with pain
My heart races and the kitchen is full of dirty dishes
There is nothing in the air but still warmth
An ugly mood begins to envelop me but I am too lethargic to cry or even feel
I stare out the window at he barely moving leaves
I want but cannot have so much else than what is now
In this wistful evening of saffron sorrow and death
Someone walks by talking in a nasal voice perfect for my mood
I conjure images of snow and beaches and fog
And redwood trees and art galleries and football stadiums
And rock concerts and pastel perfection and still my wife is not home and so
The sigh does not satisfy
It is shallow and like this evening bereft or relief and I then
At last I hear it
My wife’s voice
She is home

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