Since I came home, words have been filling my space, words of anger, remorse, love, sadness, hope…
We have been trying to reach each other, to let our feelings form a brittle web to bind us together again when expressed using careful, deliberate and fragile sentences.
I am filled with new strength. I know now which lighthouse to aim for in the dark, which way to avoid the shallow grounds, and am better prepared to deal with the hidden ones. My husband on the other hand is suffering the horrible calm after a storm, with no breeze to lighten the damp tranquility, no wind to help set sail and find direction. He is in a state of penitence, holding wretched stalks of disappointment. He is grateful now for my strength, holding on to it for his life. His puerile dream has died, a horrid drawn out death, and now he is left trying to cope with the fact that none of the visions he had, none of the promises of new love, new fulfillment,, new erotic adventures with him at the helm will be his reality.
We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:
Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.
It is indeed wondrous how much pain and suffering men are willing to cause in order to chase pubertal visions. An Nisa is a text full of horrid prejudice, falsehoods and evil intent, but one thing is absolutely true: Man was created weak.
Women are created strong, and we get stronger while the men break.