Letter To A Late Ex-wife
By Nicola Ditty aka britwizz
A postscript to “
Hutch reflects upon his marriage, and other manners of
death.
~ PG for language. Comments and feedback welcome. Share your
thoughts with me at britwizz@msn.com ~
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I thought I’d found
some balance in my life until you walked back in,
Sharp stiletto booted,
heavy footed, with your assumed affection -
Tilting my world to
expose the soft underbelly of our shared past.
It’s funny how
differently we remember the same events;
Distance has a habit
of altering perspective,
And, after all, we
always came at things from opposite directions.
Always taking the
truth to split it into asymmetrical halves.
Back then our words
were ragged fingernails scrabbling for purchase;
Raking and tearing at
each other, leaving bloodied tracks behind
Without ever having
raised a hand. Raised voices alone can do all that,
If the force behind
them is strong enough. And it was… Too often, it was.
Our dialogue was
filled with countless acts of sedition
Resisting the
stricture of the vows that bound us.
But I remember, too, slothful
Sundays wrapped in each other’s arm,
Each other’s skin, it
sometimes seemed, and still not close enough.
The whole day spent
staring at each other, love-drunk and lazy.
And I would write
songs and sonnets on the bowed perfection of your smile
Or the color of your
eyes. And you? You made gifts of silent adoration,
With liberal
offerings of your body, your heart and your beautiful spirit.
So when did ‘I do’
become ‘I wish we never’?
What made a strong
seam become a line of fracture?
And how could we, who
loved so sweetly, turn passion to poison
That left us
speechless…deaf…blind to the other’s needs?
So we blundered
about, running into each other with hands flailing -
Connecting randomly
like Helen-fucking-Keller.
Trial and error made
us expert marksmen;
Thank God towards the
end of things the arsenal ran low.
We kept things
simple, with an economy of words,
Taking careful aim
and hitting the target every time.
Our energies
depleted, we didn’t even use our hands -
You left without the
customary bruises.
Wounds heal, scars
fade, bones mend;
Even bad blood will
naturally replenish.
All it takes is time,
a period of rest.
We came together for
one night only,
And still maintained
a safe distance.
Or an almost-distance
that was almost safe.
Strange, and not a
little humbling,
That I was the least
of your concerns.
I wish we’d had the
chance to talk.
I wish you could have
told me.
I wish we could have
said goodbye…
How long will you
still hold me?
ef