BECAUSE OF THE DREAM

Funny thing is, there are plenty of bachelors
who have wives right there under their roofs,
and then again, there are just as many husbands
whose wives disappeared some time back.

Met a man once who had a wife and plenty of kids,
but slept in a sad bachelor-dive in the corner
of his family's house. It might just as well have been
the same mirky bed he slept in for so many years
before any of them came along, with the same
mess of books on the floor- bachelor books,
with tipped over wine glasses and stiletto heels
on the jackets.

Knew another man whose wife died some years back,
but you'd swear you saw her every time you came
face-to-face with him in the daity aisle.
He said to someone once that it was just as if her death
was a fine membrane, maybe like a birth cawl,
stretched thinly between her and him.
He said that was all there was in her death,
but you couldn't help wondering sometimes
if you mightn't have been able to rut
some of the sadness out of his face.

The best wedding I ever heard about,
there was an Elvis Presley impersonator, and the bride,
forty-two years old and crushed into tight red satin,
held a fag lightly, like a camation,
between her fingers, down by her side,
even during the vows.
But, mostly, a wedding reminds me of a suttee party,
weaving exhultantly and groggily through the streets.
I guess that's just me.

Met a man who said he felt like his wife was always
disappearing- slipping out of his hands -
like one of those dreams you have of losing somebody.
She said to him, You gotta stop hunting me down
like some kind qf sleep-starved bush-tracker...
But he couldn't stop, see?
Because of the dream.

© Philomena van Rijswijk