Husbands

My friend Paula’s husband
loves laughing and liberty
pappardelle and red wine.
An immigrant from Eastern Europe
he frequently critiques the government.
An academic with strong analytical skills
he is either smiling or worked up
he has gusto, passion, charm.
Since his heart attack two weeks ago
now he strives for
no salt and calm.

My new friend Lauren is getting
divorced from her husband
whom I’ve never met.
She tells me he let their young
daughter get a nose ring
without consulting her first.
I ask no questions.
She tells me they want to be
amicable. He’s a lawyer
and volunteered to handle it
himself. He wants the house.
Amicable is great, I tell her
but get your own lawyer.

My friend Grace’s husband
— a wonderful guy
kind and wise
with true generosity of spirit
loving, fun, up for adventure
a devoted father
to their two young girls.
He died of a brain aneurysm
at age thirty-six.
Now she, a single mother
is everything —
mother, father, nursemaid
chauffeur, breadwinner
the consummate professional
always attentive, caring, there.
She is a powerful planet
and their two daughters
her bright, beautiful moons
that orbit and grow
with the tides.

My husband
tracks mud on the rug,
after years of reminders
he does it still.
But he brings me coffee
every morning.
He doesn’t interrupt me
when he finds me writing
in corners of the house.
And at night when I
can’t sleep
can’t stop thinking about
aneurysms, heart failure and divorce —
he holds me, folds me
in his strong embracing arms
until I fall asleep
dreaming of coffee.