Divorce

Divorce

If the warmth of her Language could affect the Body it might
be worth reading in this weather.

                                                                Jane Austin

It was the kind of morning that made you glad

you:

didn’t put the winter coats away just yet

didn’t put off taking the dog to the vet

didn’t put off the wash

didn’t, though it was offered and you wanted:

                        pinot noir and it was

                        colossal it was

                        lips and the con-

                        fusion of this kiss

when your hair’s down and the dogma’s

redundant and it slides like legs of wine on the inside

of his best crystal Dixie, it’s going home alone

and going to bed alone

it’s all down the hall from where it all started

brushing by the parka that sways and falls

as though it were the one drunk.  And it’s while

your skin’s spitting a completely new chrysalis,

your soaked bouquet:

God’s tenure of the unfired cup in his palm’s

shade raising it to his lips

                        raising it

                        but it’s empty

                        (it’s always been

                        empty) and

didn’t He wrap his fist around it, and  

didn’t that squeeze make hips grind and those big mug lips

                        when the two rims met

                        didn’t they,

while the sick dog circles round the winter

coat, circles circles and settles,

didn’t they, still wet, feel like, those lips, in His shadow,

didn’t they even briefly, make you glad?…