by Kate Gaskin
I bought a little wooden house on a bay
and watched moon jellyfish throb
beneath the dock and out the other side
as you held the baby in your arms.
I watched moon jellyfish throb
upon the rock wall where they snagged themselves
as you held the baby in your arms
and turned to place your hand in mine
upon the rock wall where we snagged ourselves—
our marriage, the baby—and then you left
after you turned to place your hand in mine
in our house in Omaha. Outside snow was falling
on our marriage, the baby—and then you left.
Who says a military wife is strong?
In our house in Omaha, outside the snow was falling,
and even in Qatar the sand was cold.
Who says a military wife is strong?
I fainted in the bathroom, dreamed of Florida,
but even in Qatar the sand was cold,
and you were gone for months and months
while I fainted in the bathroom, dreamed of Florida,
held the baby to my breasts, and then, one day,
when you were gone for months and months
I bought a little wooden house on a bay.
Last updated May 12, 2019