Something I wrote when I was 27 and a single mother of four:
“Dream man”
The night was black, soft and woolen.
I couldn’t leave it – not now.
When I thought of tomorrow, it hurt a little to know
That I would be tired – and perhaps a bit grumpy
I ought to sleep
He is sleeping
With heavy, secure breath – he sleeps
He left me – for the sake of morning:
“Darling – we should sleep now – you know – tomorrow – it’s already 2:30. It was a lovely evening. Sleep tight”
I reach out
Then – let him go
Wanting to keep my part of the evening just a little bit longer – I light a cigarette.
Contemplate:
Ten years!
Incredible
For ten years
He has lain there
Evening after evening
Sleeping – for the sake of tomorrow
No, not always
In times long past, he, as well, has talked nights away
Thinking of it now, I realize how long ago this was
He had become old – long before I – had he become old
Perhaps I’ll never get old
Well wrinkled and gray-haired and cozy I would become
But never really old enough for him
Never so old that I would let go of the “now” – the precious “now” – for something unknown
Maybe it was just as well
I suppose one of us had to…
Maybe he grew old for my sake
He was sound – so I could be free
He thought of tomorrow – so I could have today
Such security he gave
He just was
And we lived
———————————————————————————————–
Muffled noise
Noise through closed doors and sleepy ears
Chattering
Light
Bright light
Sun
Waking up
Stretching out an arm
Searching for him
He’s not there?
Where?
Open eyes
Wondering eyes
His voice in the kitchen
Shushing lively children
Quiet
Noisy quiet
Secure noisy quiet
—————————————————————–
I’m awake
Slowly – The smell of coffee seeps into the room
It reaches my nose
Stays – awaits – what is to come
My tongue slips out, licks the sleep off my lips
The aroma of lovemaking, hidden in the sheets, comes to mix with the aroma of coffee
I sigh with well-being
Brush a hand over my stomach
How flat and unassuming it seems
Remembering when it was tight and fertile
It was beautiful then
His hand softly resting on it, patiently waiting for a kick from our child
I’m one with nothing
______________________________________________________________
The door opens – someone is entering
Quickly – I close my eyes
He thinks I’m sleeping
He feels he is giving – and enjoys his generosity
A hand on my hair
Soft
So infinitely soft…
——————————————
Words
Dumb clumsy words
Words so inadequately saying such a fraction of the feelings
Words – words – Words –
The day has caught me…
—————————
I’ve made coffee – are you awake?
Zitta – originally written January, 1969
