(Based on the painting by Frida Kahlo)
I sigh as I board the bus
on my way to the market,
my basket over my arm.
I notice,
as I do with everything in my life,
the irritation I feel
toward the others who share my bench.
Their open faces,
comfort with their own bodies,
while I age and
wear my unhappiness like a cloak.
I will plan a meal
for a man I once loved.
He will gobble it down
wordlessly
scraping his plate clean.
He will wipe his mouth
and grunt as his chair
moves away from the table.
I will wash the dishes
while he reads paper,
rustling the pages
and sighing as though he has
the weight of the world
upon his shoulders.
We will go to bed,
barely a word spoken
between us
our backs to each other,
not touching.
And I will remember
how he once
hungered for me
in my youth, my beauty.
Now my heart is as heavy
as my child-stretched middle
Both aching and empty
From lack of love,
His touch.
Eve Remillard
6/22/19
Eve, your speaker’s progression through the day is full of pain and weariness. These are palpable starting with
I notice,
as I do with everything in my life,
the irritation I feel
toward the others. . . .
and then continue with the scenes from home. Though this speaker is tired, she (I assume) is real and relatable. Though she might be irritated with me were I on the bus, these inner thoughts make her a bit – well, even likable because she is so honest.