(so many rough drafts... I hope that you like this latest piece!)
The astronaut's marriage is failing,
and he does not know why.
On its last orbit through the year
it gravitied through the cracks
like falling leaves through empty conversations
and he does not know
if the wreckage can be salvaged.
There is no scientific data
to be found
in her passive aggressive missiles
jettisoned from numb hands.
She just comm links into his brain,
“I can't do this anymore.”
She says this over and over,
her words like falling rain
hoping to hit the mark
of truthful or even just get repetitive enough
so that one day
it will come true.
The systems failed
just like the statisticians said they would,
they said
1 in 5
4
3
1 in 2 marriages
will fail
so love her more than
fifty two percent of the time.
Remind her that her eyes
Rhyme with your bottom line
So that when you hit that bottom line,
She can be your reserve tank,
Hit the surface and thank
Every lucky star you named after her
When you got all the way up there
That she is still willing to be
Your tire swing.
Your chicken soup.
Your teddy bear.
Her still-soft hair
Hangs like unspoken promises
Across her unopened book face
And you must remember
To thank Grace
For everything she has ever done for you.
You will hold on to
her untethered fingers
and whisper, I know.
I have seen this scene
play out before
diamond-eyed and running for home
in five
four
three
two
many times
I have sat on your waterline windowsill
and collected all of your rain drops,
even though you thought
that I didn't give a Hoover dam
but I did.
I did not know
that it would mean something
in the end.
In the beginning
we were the ninth inning
heading for home
waving to the crowd, already
so many shades of way too loud
turn down the volume,
you said.
So I did.
I can no longer hear
your heart beat
like I used to,
filling the cavernous quiet
with its necessary cacophony.
