Houdini’s Wife

Houdini’s Wife

Today I write you from the middle of the bed
watching the sun rise on the wall that’s
opposite our window and
that cat we got,
still thinking he can catch the shadows
of the wind-tossed branches 
tangled in the linens
claw and reach with his religious ceaselessness.
Regardless, though, they all remain unmoved;
you knew that.
 
And you run hot at night,
too close, and I
I cannot sleep
with you so always
always close like this,
too hot. So,
so as not to wake you I lie still,
and stare up at our ceiling, 
heavy,
hot,
your sleeping arm across my body.
 
At two —
You wouldn’t know this, but, each morning,
two, like clockwork, irregardless,
no matter the side I have left him on,
he cries and scratches til I let him out.
 
On my way back to bed I catch the tide,
thinking itself alone,
stopping to gaze up at the moon.
 
Love, hat, scarf, glove, and winter sunglasses,
I have cut my hair
the long hair that you fell for,
cut it off.
And I enclose it here.
 
 
Nysnø – Edvard Munch
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)