I feel so lost, or maybe just empty,
sitting here a hollow woman in the fullness of life.
What blessing I lack I do not know
and there is nothing I can say is amiss.
Still I feel a longing for rest or togetherness or maybe just time.
I’d like to think that tomorrow will be different,
But I know what tomorrow brings- more.
More, slung over his hunched back
gaining distance on me with every steady step
Clomping heavy boots that sound like Doc Martins on hollow stairs
I wish I could reach out - lock the door and hook the chain
Pretend that I’m not home. Tomorrow might think I’ve taken a vacation.
Would he be angry if I ran off to some little bed and breakfast in the hills
and woke to the smell of someone else cooking?
I’d have two farm eggs over medium, bacon and coffee.
Tomorrow might just plop his old bag down on the porch,
and kick the door with his steel toed boots.
He might scream or try to see in the windows.
But I’d be hiding quietly in a hot bubble bath,
my smiling face under a hot washcloth


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nice.


