THE TRAGEDY ISN’T THIS RENDING OF THE HEART

The tragedy isn’t this rending of the heart

sleepless nights, torn letters

& all the pretty adulteries, the parts

we posed & held, the crying kids, the wife

understanding no one. All this life

of call & response, call, no response

all this life of screeching tires

& someone else is leaving, launched

into thin air, into that broken fire

It’s not the aching & the rut, the honey

edged knife, but that we tire

of it all, & turn, & wash the stains

laundering passion, ironing out grief

It’s that we sit here, eyes on the blue screen

& yawn, & stumble to our dreams,

ready to sleep, & when we touch now

my heart is steady, the curtains drawn