The Ring

Tonight, I sleep with a cadaver.

My husband, the denier, as the CLL

strengthened by long term COVID

consumes him, pound by pound.

 

Your wedding band,

indestructible titanium and carbon,

surface marred and scarred

sand blasted, acrylic chipped,

ungloved victim of some abandoned project

lies in the dirt, flung from fingers

shrunk, shriveled, from

hands once full and strong, thick with muscle,

now trembling.

Even the swiftly shipped replacement

two sizes down

spins freely with each movement.

 

I slide the pristine ring

onto my left pointer finger

so close to mine

so far from mine.

It knows this is not its place.

I move it to my other hand

settle it on my right ring finger

My flesh seizes it.

I can fight no more,

knees crumple and I

rest my head on your chair.

 

It is cold.

 

I light candles, adding one

Confused by the array

Who are they all? Who do I remember?

Who still lives in the life after life

as they are remembered by me?

Does my confusion erase them?

Does it erase me?

Who am I if I am not?

 

So many doors locked behind me

abandoned homes

sad dreams

distorted memories

overwriting some truth

that no one knows any more.

 

I feel your hands take mine

I see you, and so many more

waiting for me in the forever

home that will be a home

I drop the key down the sewer grate

and walk into your embrace.

Reading Tea Leaves

Aisles of tea, pushing an empty cart

staring at shelves, paralyzed

the wrong tea, the wrong tea

small bags and large bags and loose leaves

and distillates and

single servings

and and and

if I take the wrong tea

 

I drive, gas gauge blinks

empty alert

but I drive

backseat trunk passenger seat filled

every tea

strainers filters water boilers

Strip mall parking lot, empty except for

homeless shopping carts and

third shifters of the dark

temporary haven

I can’t go home

There are crackers waiting to be dunked

crushed salt for the wrong tea

 

Safer to sleep in the

shadow of the lower bagmen

who haven’t scored notches

who don’t have teardrop tattoos

 

than to face those hands

pantomime communion

wafer in wine

bread in hemlock

crackers in tea

27

Three cubed

That is how many times

today

I reminded myself

that invisible disabilities

deserve my patience

and love

and all I want

is to be free

of this burden

and all I fear

is that day is

coming

soon