They move together like quicksilver
indisipherable in pursuit
there is such a love in his eyes
her smooth hands cup his mouth
drinking the words he would gush
if they were not pressed tightly, one to the other
locked in an embrace
that gives life
quickening as signature is fluid
when she finds out, she imagines telling her daughter twenty years hence
the story of her conception;
your father and I loved you very much
we lay down by the fireplace, he took me in his arms
from this passion you were forged into life
clay breathed upon, bearing breath and soul
you were wanted, even before you chose
to fill us with yourself
my stomach grew and grew until
it was a tight drum on which to paint
the symbols of your dream
**
He moved in her, his eyes tightly shut
he thought of other women, he thought of touching himself
in the office toilet at lunch with folded magazine
and why such things happened when he had all he could ever want
here in his arms, still he betrayed with desires, ill-tuned to eternal love
when she grew fat and round he did not
wish to hold her quite so tightly, or touch her hot flushed pressing flesh
he thought of others, he got up early, and jogged his frustration into sweat
**
Don’t worry the doctor smiled, with a savage wink
as she labored and her face grew red and her hands sought his
and he wanted to run from the room and shove well fed nurse
against the wall and pour his horror of birth and future into her lipsticked sighs
don’t worry the doctor smiled, with a savage wink
i’m going to sew her up even tighter, it will be like
Christmas day when you unwrap her again
the quintisential “husband’s stitch”
and over his starched cloak and gown, the doctors grey eyebrows
went up and down and he, who was lost
lurched and threw up at the violence and the shame
of men and of women and of life and death, inequality and lust
**
then his daughter was born
fat and round and squalling loudly
if he could have interpreted those words, he felt they spoke to him a repromand
for his cowardice and his fears, imagining being a father
of growing up and settling down, of love and impossible challenges and joys
he saw his wife’s face, wet with sweat and hair plastered down
he felt more than he had ever felt, the emptiness of the past replaced
no longing to empty himself in the coldness of pornography as she slept
a lifetime from the day he first took her to bed and
stripped her of choice with impregnated seed
and now he knew
the fear of men is the strength of women
his daughter fixed him with swollen red eyes
watching him with a stearness that seemed to say
you can do this, you got this, you are not your worst thought
you can be who you want to be, you can be my father, you can love these women
you can direct our future, reshaping mountains
or fall into the arms of least resistance, worship the emptiness of hollow gestures
she seemed to be saying with her tiny fists and pursed lips
turn away from your shallow sport, take this road with us
he who once was weak, grew with love
those things that once were, no more
his resilience, their armor
against the unknown world
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My hand
TheFeatheredSleep 