Sunday, December 11, 2005

Incommunicado

What sort of a marriage is this?  She hasn't
spoken to me all day.  I've started to blame myself:
something I've said must be responsible for
those tears.  And when I speak she doesn't answer;
she just looks disconsolate.  Her behaviour
is atypical, hard to fathom; for years
we've got on well, with few disputes.  Then this.
And why does she put our displayed photographs
in a drawer, prepare lunch only for herself, pick
at her food like a lovesick teenager?  I try
to cheer her, but she's beyond reason, inarticulate,
inscrutable.  This is ironic conduct for one
who spent time yesterday in church, though
what she was doing there--it being a Tuesday--
she has not said.  "Look," I say, "be reasonable.
Tell me what's bothering you."  But she rises, without
answering, and walks through me to the kitchen.


Paul Groves

4:50 AM