This morning, I cried under the sheets
alone in our master bed.
After you left for work, I cried again
when putting the puppy outside on her tether,
then as I filled her bowl with water.
How do women know when to leave?
During your first major depression,
for months you barely spoke to me—
I told you I loved you and you
pretended you didn’t hear and slammed the door.
I told you I loved you and my words
groveled on the floor. In a handful of days,
I will tell you. For now, it’s just me crying
unloading the dishwasher.
A brutal part of me says Stay,
the voice of the world telling every woman
her marriage is not bad enough.
Look! Not a bruise. Not a crushed skull.
Inside every woman, a hand on her neck.
Inside every woman, a bag of cement.
Who put it there?
Everyone. Magdalene followed Jesus to the cross.
Just the other day, the cops didn’t follow through
and a woman in a neighboring town is now dead.
What is enough?
This summer in a rage, you threw
something near my head, then said
“I didn’t throw it at you, I threw it near you.”
Abuser script. And oh! That had me going,
piranha chewing at my insides. Inside
every woman, days unwind commanding,
“Stay and drown.” Therefore, let me just make it clear,
dear husband, ex-husband-to-be,
you didn’t throw it near me, you threw it at me.
You just didn’t hit me.
Shakespeare wrote, “All is fair in love and war..” WIFE X disagrees. Pat Benatar sang, “Love is a battlefield.” And with the statistics about intimate partner violence, household labor, and more—WIFE X agrees with Benatar, which is why she is using this nom de guerre as she writes from her home somewhere on the East Coast.