My Ex-Husband Turns 50 And I grow old with memory. Sorrows I nursed, the way I held Our children, counting every breath, Wet and taut, worried that I had them All wrong. They thrived On my ministrations. Anger is different. It starved me for years. Life’s fierce demands Too much for us. These days, I … Continue reading “My Ex-Husband Turns 50”
My Ex-Husband Turns 50
And I grow old with memory.
Sorrows I nursed, the way I held
Our children, counting every breath,
Wet and taut, worried that I had them
All wrong. They thrived
On my ministrations. Anger is different.
It starved me for years.
Life’s fierce demands
Too much for us. These days, I blame it
On the air. I was a young bride,
So sure in my satin that I could turn
Him on my hips. We did not fit. Weaned
From that life, hardly ready for what followed.
Years passed.
We were fourteen
In a basement, doors locked against
Inevitable police neighbors called
When the band played too loud.
Someone is singing, still,
Though we cannot hear those waves
Crashing as they must against
All that we chose to do.
Key words: Aging, turning 50, memory
Author: Janice
A creative. Lifelong Marylander. After many odd jobs of adolescence and college, have always worked as a writer and published essays, op-eds, articles, and poetry in national news media and small presses. Collection of poetry, "Saturday at the Gym", about boxing, aging, and motherhood; collection of artwork and poetry, "What Are Mothers For?" On the verge of an empty nest for the first time in 30 years, my question is: What am I for?
View all posts by Janice
