Scenes of a Marriage

Now that

the dishes in the sink are done

and the company we invited for dinner has gone

and the dog is napping on the back lawn

(stretched out longer than an empty minute)

you stand at the back screen door and yawn

with amused satisfaction;

the coffee in my cup has cooled

and the ice cream you served for dessert has pooled

in the floral print bowl that you meticulously re-glued

(the morning after the night I broke it)

I watch you inspect a fingernail you’ve chewed

in bemused abstraction;

the evening has drained into night

and moths kiss the windows drawn by the light

you sit at the table with your crossword and try

(for the third time that day since you began it)

to tease out the answers the clues don’t belie

in obtuse contraction;

you notice me then across the room

sitting in shadow that approximates gloom

you tilt your head to one side and coo

(for the first time in weeks since we lost it)

an invitation that is decidedly you

with enthused affection:

Now, that.