The Subtleties of Coexistence

I choose to take the trash out in the abandoned dark
of night,
I flip the horizontal switch above the sink in the bathroom
to wash my face,
dishes need to be done, but the sponge is dry and breaking apart
in the scummy sink,
crumbs and twist-ties litter the coffee table
in the living room,
the bedroom fans are caked with gray dust.

I think I can love him,
this time.

On my knees,
scrubbing the shower floor, it's 3AM
this is what I do.
I haven't been able to sleep since he started
the graveyard shift,
so I feel trapped in the graveyard.
So much commiseration and arguments,

honey, don't worry
it's okay, I promise.

Yellowing, the refrigerator door sucks shut
my bare feet stick to the hardwood floors
I want a tuna sandwich
and I can hear the young couple sleeping behind the
kitchen wall,
feet apart,
full bed,
it's hit them already,
their nights crawl on,
what a shame.

Our bed is large and I can't get close enough,
scooting and scooting him to the edge of the bed
until he wakes up and mumbles,
"Look at all the bed behind you."

Getting accustomed to this life?
Sure, I guess.
This time, it's different
I'm willing to hold on to it with both hands
until my knuckles are not only white
but bursting from the thin film of skin around the

it's only skin,
seems worth it to me.

our existence is complimentary,
even the empty Star Wars action figure boxes
until the edge of my bed,
my jewelry on his side table,
his mail on my desk,
my poetry laying on top of his record player.

it all makes sense, suddenly
on the front porch along the highway
on the hottest night of the summer, yet.

we are only skin and bones now
and if we hold on tight enough
we can burst through all of this
and it's all worth it to me
how gently i can say this to you
with compassion and admiration in my voice.

True, it's only a voice
one that you've heard before
but there's beauty in recycling
the voice of a lover.

(The Compost Heap, 2010. rd)