cinaed

PRAYING TO THE PATRON SAINT OF SAVED MARRIAGES

She tells him what she cannot name—

how anger tastes as it leaves her lips,
how easy it is to love someone
              when he is sleeping,
the sound of rain as it pools
              beneath their bedroom window.

There are not enough words for sadness.

Misery and sorrow wait
              like the dead in the closets.
Melancholy loiters in the kitchen.
But how does she explain heartache
              to someone who has never
              washed night from his hair?

She unfolds the words from their corners—
comfort and ease tucked under their mattress,
security and compassion piled high
              on the bed.

She remembers how quiet their pillows were,
two faces in darkness waiting
for the other to speak.