The Critical Mom Posts More Poems

They're part of a series about my husband.

Waking at Night

This nighttime sky holds winds, waters

A distant plane—

The moment goes on,

Another moment enters,

Exits, yet another

These moments

Continue coming,

Continue going,

Beside me, you are not.

Ancient, forgotten feeling,

So long gone, returns.

Three a.m. outside

Winds rushing,

Waters running,

Clouds waiting,

No voices, no dreams

Bedside Table

Your photo is beside me,

I pick it up, talk to it,

Hold the white frame with both hands

Kiss the glass face

Your smile, your eyes,

Your tie, some little piece of dust

In your hair? I’m actually

Reaching to brush it off?

Every part of you is there but you

I do my usual bedtime thing—

Pick it up, talk to you

As if you could hear me

But the more I tell you things,

The more you’re not there.

Going the Stairs

He was a bit out of breath,

I was the nagging wife:

“Lose a little weight,” he was

Tolerant, slapping his

Beer belly, we were still quite

Happy.

Halfway up, he paused to breathe, brought

One foot up, waited, then the other,

Hand gripped the banister.

Unable to complain, he let me pretend.

Long past what the point of

Endurance, he would not

Let me carry the tank

When he did,

I still didn’t know

A day would come when

He couldn’t walk—when

He would say, “The

Dying process

Has begun.”