These deeply personal poems were written, then stashed away to be forgotten among the random bits of paper in my house. I read them today, for the first time since he came home... I was amazed at how fresh the pain felt. I was shocked that, even back then, I could tell that something wasn't right.
I am going to share one of them every Friday for a while...
I heard from my husband today
short bursts of conversation
tid bits of his day
we can not talk like we used to.
His day so full of uncertainty
Never knowing what is coming next
I do not wish to know the perils of his job.
He does not relate to the mundaneness of mine.
We are trapped in a cycle of apathy.
We can no longer understand the routine
of each others lives.
We no longer pass gossip as if if was cooly folded laundry
ready to be put away
We can no longer relate
Will our ability to communicate return
upon his arrival home?
Will we easy back into a pattern of banter
as easily as he will ease back
into the cushions of his favorite chair?
I dread the passage of time between arrival and familiarity