He walks ahead of her now
as if the bond between them
has been stretched
like the elastic band
on the yellowed white slip
that still sits in the back
of her drawer;
the slip she wore on the
day
he married her.
Back then they were
inseparable,
held hands as they walked,
whispered and giggled until
dawn,
dipped strawberries in
chocolate
or champagne
and fed them to each other,
took long drives along the
canal
listening to the frogs and
crickets
by the light of the moon.
He craved the smell
of her freshly washed tousle
of hair.
She loved the thrill she
felt in his arms.
Like the undergarment
she hangs onto without
reason
and its hopeless misshapen
waist
their journey asunder was
invisible.
Two babies,
a downturn in the business,
tumultuous days
and exhausted nights
with two teenagers,
his way versus hers,
both needing to be right.
Their complacency and arrogant
assumption of forever
breaking down the fibers
and
the tightness of their
bond.
At home the cars have been
serviced,
the yard freshly mowed and
the house has a new coat of
paint,
but he walks ahead of her
now
and she speaks to him
with contempt in her voice
and he answers her in
grunts;
but they are neither able
to let go
of the flaccid fiber that
binds them
nor fortify its strength
with any more certainty
than she can mend or toss that
worn out slip.
Let me always walk by your side. Let me hold your hand always. Let me feel your body touch mine in a hug. Let me always be with you
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