Something I wrote when I was 27 and a single mother of four:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Dream man”<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The night was black, soft and woolen.<\/p>\n I couldn’t leave it – not now.<\/p>\n When I thought of tomorrow, it hurt a little to know<\/p>\n That I would be tired – and perhaps a bit grumpy<\/p>\n I ought to sleep<\/p>\n He is sleeping<\/p>\n With heavy, secure breath – he sleeps<\/p>\n He left me – for the sake of morning:<\/p>\n “Darling – we should sleep now – you know – tomorrow – it’s already 2:30. It was a lovely evening. Sleep tight”<\/p>\n I reach out<\/p>\n Then – let him go<\/p>\n Wanting to keep my part of the evening just a little bit longer – I light a cigarette.<\/p>\n Contemplate:<\/p>\n Ten years!<\/p>\n Incredible<\/p>\n For ten years<\/p>\n He has lain there<\/p>\n Evening after evening<\/p>\n Sleeping – for the sake of tomorrow<\/p>\n No, not always<\/p>\n In times long past, he, as well, has talked nights away<\/p>\n Thinking of it now, I realize how long ago this was<\/p>\n He had become old – long before I – had he become old<\/p>\n Perhaps I’ll never get old<\/p>\n Well wrinkled and gray-haired and cozy I would become<\/p>\n But never really old enough for him<\/p>\n Never so old that I would let go of the “now” – the precious “now” – for something unknown<\/p>\n Maybe it was just as well<\/p>\n I suppose one of us had to…<\/p>\n Maybe he grew old for my sake<\/p>\n He was sound – so I could be free<\/p>\n He thought of tomorrow – so I could have today<\/p>\n Such security he gave<\/p>\n He just was<\/p>\n And we lived<\/p>\n ———————————————————————————————–<\/p>\n Muffled noise<\/p>\n Noise through closed doors and sleepy ears<\/p>\n Chattering<\/p>\n Light<\/p>\n Bright light<\/p>\n Sun<\/p>\n Waking up<\/p>\n Stretching out an arm<\/p>\n Searching for him<\/p>\n He’s not there?<\/p>\n Where?<\/p>\n Open eyes<\/p>\n Wondering eyes<\/p>\n His voice in the kitchen<\/p>\n Shushing lively children<\/p>\n Quiet<\/p>\n Noisy quiet<\/p>\n Secure noisy quiet<\/p>\n —————————————————————–<\/p>\n I’m awake<\/p>\n Slowly – The smell of coffee seeps into the room<\/p>\n It reaches my nose<\/p>\n Stays – awaits – what is to come<\/p>\n My tongue slips out, licks the sleep off my lips<\/p>\n The aroma of lovemaking, hidden in the sheets, comes to mix with the aroma of coffee<\/p>\n I sigh with well-being<\/p>\n Brush a hand over my stomach<\/p>\n How flat and unassuming it seems<\/p>\n Remembering when it was tight and fertile<\/p>\n It was beautiful then<\/p>\n His hand softly resting on it, patiently waiting for a kick from our child<\/p>\n I’m one with nothing<\/p>\n ______________________________________________________________<\/p>\n The door opens – someone is entering<\/p>\n Quickly – I close my eyes<\/p>\n He thinks I’m sleeping<\/p>\n He feels he is giving – and enjoys his generosity<\/p>\n A hand on my hair<\/p>\n Soft<\/p>\n So infinitely soft…<\/p>\n ——————————————<\/p>\n Words<\/p>\n Dumb clumsy words<\/p>\n Words so inadequately saying such a fraction of the feelings<\/p>\n Words – words – Words –<\/p>\n The day has caught me…<\/p>\n —————————<\/p>\n I’ve made coffee – are you awake?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Zitta \u2013 originally written January, 1969<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"