Hole in the Heart Diaries

Once, or even twice, I lay in bed next to John F., thinking, “This is someone close; this is a big part of my life. This IS my life, his respiration like any other mammals, his humanness like any other man. I never could explain intimacy; is that what this is?”

For the first 15 years of our marriage he had a retainer on his bottom teeth. It had been in place since he was a teenager. His mother explained that his orthodontist had died. She remembered him fondly. Odd for such a cold woman. I really can’t say. It looked as if he had amalgam fillings on his eye teeth. I’d mention it every 2 or 3 years. He was not inclined to deal with it, despite the fact that several run- of- the- mill dentists had told him to have it removed because it could be a harbinger of dental caries, and general decay. No run of the mill dentist was willing to remove it, though.
Eventually half of it broke off. I just happened to notice. Again he was without concern.
“preoccupied with bigger things”, I’d think.

But his head was merely empty.

The tube is full. I don’t recall drawing a bath. My feet stink. Must have done so.
Friday night and the sky choked a couple times but no rain.
I still put buns outside as most mornings, early. The bird is a love; pretty speckled throat and a red bronze head. As I bring her in I realize a singing bird is better than a sour man.

Friday night is motor sport night. They race all year.
I imagine I’m an invisible woman.I will have my memories of flesh is a nourishment.An empty room with a tub full of water is meaningless. Is it that we all have a bit of madness? Is it better not to ask?
The cat hears the buckle on my boots and comes to chase the bell.The man who has left,is he wishing me a scorpion in my boot?
We will call him John H. The man who leaves.

The radio plays, but not his song. He’s too weary to recognize his rage. Stomps around at night.Catches a glimpse of himself in a dark lake
in a full moon.Fearful of taking a good look he’s as baffled as a caged bird flinging seeds about in an attempt to be free.

**********

I watch a rich woman buying a wreath of Protea, Bay Laurel,Juniper and Bottle Brush from a traveler. Isn’t this more important? The man takes the fifty dollars, and it is worth it to the woman. It is raining now.This is more important.If he was unhappy, I did not make him so.I pace around for awhile.The last of the sweet, sweet cherry tomatoes that John F. grew are still in the sink since Monday. I put one in Bun’s cage. She loves cherry tomatoes.

You won’t get far in life if you wolf your food down like a vagabond.If you grew up in the woods, had your long- bones green fractured, you were bound to be a worker. No soft hands and dutched cocoa for breakfast. Every one looks the other way when you get on the bus. But it’s not so bad.
No fires have been set, We prayed for rain on Friday night. No rain on Fri. It rained on Weds and Thurs, though, and Grunt got his truck stuck under an oak tree in the mud. I sit , or stand, or pace. My heart pounds, my knees quake, but I refuse to stumble. Decades of cursed men problems,I once again have been betrayed. Need to pray for more than rain.