Elizabeth Romero: Question on a Wednesday Night

The kitchen is quiet and everyone has left.

On the table

a jagged row of coffee cups and beer cans

Stand like soldiers who have broken rank.

The birthday card I gave my daughter

With a picture of enchanted rabbits.

The scissors from her project of little paper animals

Sitting down to dine together.

The house is cluttered

With the accoutrements of life:

Clothes, books, dishes, scraps, soapboxes and kettles,

Matches, cats and me.

And you, my love.

Why do I feel alone without you

Whom I have never known?

Outside is the rain-drenched hissing of a Wednesday night.

The traffic grumbles insistent and low.

And love oh love oh love

With all the fervor of my convent days

I long for you whom I do not believe

This life will ever give me.

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