The Young Wife Who Went Deaf
All spring the snow fell;
she knew she was losing her hearing.
Her husband spoke to her
and backed away, leaving.
She could not hear what he was saying:
"goodbye," he mouthed.
Her children signalled her:
they were like goldfish in a bowl,
swimming away, and thick glass grew
in front of her eyes.
The snow fell
and she hugged herself in silence,
loving the woolly feel
of her own body
and the landscape,
a gathering basket of cotton.
Her children sent telegrams;
young lovers put their strong arms
about her and oh
it was wonderful not to listen.
She was uncaring
as a small silent bird
and her house grew empty
and refilled with her own ideas.
Her husband came and confessed
and put his large head, crying,
on her lap. She was vague
and kind and uncomprehending.
From the window
she watched the snow fall, silent
as her own inner temperature.
She pressed her lips to the cold glass,
grateful for sensation,
covering the space that she alone
could breathe through
with little snails, with kisses.
Structure
36 lines · 18 stanzas