A Week of Not Thinking

Not Married 32 Years

Guard Dog in Old Town Alexandria

 

August 1985. Married.

August 2007. Divorced.

August 2017—

Still using checks with married name and

PO Box (that hid my intentions).

 

A reminder each time I use one

(crossing out last name, PO Box,

writing in maiden name, my home address),

To note the difference that time makes.

 

Ten years since the decoupling

Has dulled wrenching tears into

Unwelcome, unfocused remembrances.

 

I am past dwelling

(is that a reason I shy away from men—

no desire to re-live

when exchanging histories?)

Though cynicism lingers.

 

Twenty years of marriage:

They can be perplexing to recall—

What tone do I take that

Hurts the least, yet respects

The years together?

 

Ten years of divorce:

A bridge between then and now—

Always shifting.

 

The pain of living with wanting to forget,

But not wanting.

Disappointment in a cancelled paired-vision.

Regret in decisions and directions taken—or not.

 

Failure removes the sheen of romance

That had been vibrant.

 

Sometimes it’s hard to see the pairs, always pairs.

Even if their grass is not green, there is still

Something about those ten twenty thirty years together

That I have lost.

 

Comments

Verify your Comment

Previewing your Comment

This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.

Working...
Your comment could not be posted. Error type:
Your comment has been posted. Post another comment

The letters and numbers you entered did not match the image. Please try again.

As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.

Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.

Working...

Post a comment

Your Information

(Name is required. Email address will not be displayed with the comment.)