Jane sent her hand and then pulled it away.
She said, "Here's the alternate proof that I love you.
Two magic children that smile at your name,
A body that pulls like a pack mule to meet you.
Tell me, dear Robert, what turns you to town,
Turns you to empty your place at the table?
You prefer faces. You don't overthink.
You prefer feeling you perform a favor
By kissing my cheek after brushing your teeth,
Boots on your feet as you sleep through the morning,
Loving your children the most as you leave,
Pacing your walk like a sacrifice burning.
I see your smoldering feet down the road,
With smoke in the kitchen, my breath on the windowpane.
Show me some victory that I can achieve.
A gentle communion reminds me of yesterday.
Downtown at work, or wherever you go,
Does holiness grow with the distance created?
My marriage was not to a martyr in flames,
And martyrs don't light up so loved ones will love them."
Robert stepped back and he buttoned his shirt.
The mirror revealed every stain he was hiding.
Jane cleared her throat, changed her posture and said,
"I miss you so much that I feel like I'm dying."