Prose Header

Soldier’s Wife

by Marina J. Neary

For three nights I slept
In the warmth of my own arms.
There hasn’t been a single bruise on them
Since he left for war.
No need to wear a long-sleeved blouse anymore.

God, I wish he’d just get killed.
Then I’d cry one last time, and that would be it.
As long as he lives, I cry every day.

Hear that rustle outside?
It’s our cat Basil dragging
A wounded pigeon across the yard.
See him burrow the sand,
Leaving a trail of bloodied feathers.

The bird’s mangled wing still twitches.
And the cornflowers whisper:
You can throw out that long-sleeved blouse for good.

Copyright © 2010 by Marina J. Neary

Home Page