Independence Day, One Day Early (July 3, 1994)

Ironically,

the day before I left

was one of the

best days

of our marriage.

(Maybe she already knew

how the trial separation

was going to end.)

Like comrades celebrating

before heading off

to battle,

we laughed,

we ate,

we stayed up late talking,

not wanting to see

past that evening,

because I suspected

the next day

would be our last.

That Sunday morning

we lingered in bed,

silent, save for the

radio whispering

painfully naive

love songs;

neither one of us

wanted to be

the first one

to start the day.

Finally,

I inhaled, got up,

and wordlessly began

collecting my things.

(Thankfully,

we didn’t acquire

very much community property

during this four month

failed experiment.)

She got up

and began preparing

herself

to go to work

(she wasn’t fooling me,

I knew she was going

to see him).

I almost made it

out the door,

when the radio played

our wedding song.

Neither of us cried,

we just found each other

and hugged

until it was over,

and I whispered

“maybe this

will only be

for a little while,”

and that was

the last comforting lie

I told myself

that season.

(For dversepoets.com - where I find my poetic oasis in this wasteland called the internet.]