Because sweetheart, this life
is a born escape artist,
a migrating fever,
a convict tattooed in invisible ink,
without mercy or nostalgia.
Tony Hoagland

 

Dear, you tell me you hope

for another 25 years together.

 

You, who used to skew toward ballerina-looking

lawyers with nary a hair nor argument astray.

 

You, the noisy admirer of stoicism

waving toward my shoes in admonishment

 

about the impracticality of carpeting

the world, you wrapped in a blanket

 

of hermeneutic suspicion, who nonetheless

equates any minor flaw with loss of full humanity−

 

you tell me I should just shoot you if

you ever 1) limp or 2) go mildly deaf−

 

you and your paradoxes are infinite:

confusing, amusing as kittens.

 

Because, let me tell you, such flaws

will grow, will overpopulate like tribbles,

 

like haystacks of books

and grain siloes of clothes:

 

a humiliation of abundance,

the digging out of which

 

could well result in the burial

of the digger. Meanwhile,

 

the losses peck away their

own claims until it is hard

 

to recognize−like something moldy

overlooked in the refrigerator−what’s left.

 

I told you when we met how I hated

the pressure of the term          soulmate,

 

and capitalistic compulsions of Valentine

or Sweetest Days, let alone the big white dress,

 

like a coconut cake impersonating a woman

or a Christmas tree flocked with chemical toxins.

 

Because I never expect a lack of trouble;

tennis-hop to be ready for disaster, I request

 

you wear a helmet in the car, to prevent

head trauma, prompting your eyeroll.

 

I told Kathy, when she asked

if we’d ever make things

 

permanent, that permanence,

like perfection, is 1) not a thing

 

and 2) if it were, we’d only

notice once it was not,

 

say if I choked on a chunk

of delicious crusty bread

 

at Osteria Via Stato and

our union and myself alike

 

pronounced impermanent in retrospect.

 

But at least she died doing what she loved

with the one she loved.

 

Julie Benesh

Julie Benesh is the author of the poetry collection Initial Conditions and the poetry chapbook About Time. Her work has been published in Tin House, Another Chicago Magazine, Florida Review, and many other places. She earned an MFA from Warren Wilson College and received an Illinois Arts Council Grant. She lives in Chicago and holds a PhD in human and organizational systems.