Speaking Up

Another poem written by my favorite author / poet / best friend / soul mate.

Speaking Up
F.E. Wagoner

She gave up the night light
when we moved in together,
believing that my presence
would ease her sleep,
could chase away the thick
groping of the darkness.

We finally agreed to pull the curtains,
the dorm room glowing peach
from the light pole on the street.
Just enough darkness to keep me sane,
to let me dream a little.

The first days with my husband
in the new apartment were clean and white
despite all the boxes
of our lives scattered around.
Sleeping on the floor those summer nights
windows open for any air,
the sound of cars on the street
muffled through our dark rooms.
Still there is the glow
of swimming pool lights through cracks
in the bedroom curtains.

Falling asleep is a strange thing,
a process of remembering,
the same kinds of boxes and arguments
about where to place
the chairs, how many drawers she got;
how she and I lay
on the floor of our room, some days
before we built the loft,
mattresses side by side,
how it is always the need
to feel a body close to me.

His breathing now
so much like hers.  The same way
I can curl up beside a body
for any warmth.  The light here
almost the same shade in darkness,
the same through curtains
as it was with her,
makes falling asleep
even with him next to me
a strange and difficult thing.

Why am I not supposed to say
I miss our nights together?
That her voice in the night
speaking up bad dreams and trouble
was all that kept me
from slipping over the edge of the loft
and dashing away.

There is no shame in wishing
for a womans body close to mine,
a silent longing for a chance to feel
powerful, once again knowing that
she dreams beside me.

Some lives are meant for sharing
in different ways
But here is the sadness of knowing, when the car
pulls away, when the phone disconnects,
that she speaks in her sleep for someone else.