she thinks
that i am getting cold on her
like
last night when i did not
have the chance
(or the nerve)
hugging her
and she was looking
at the ceiling
in total darkness
unable
to get some sleep
because
of her predicament
while i lay
soundly sleeping
on my soft pillow
and thick blankets
wrapping my
body away from
the world
hers
too tired i tell her
with lots
of work in the office
and too many
problems
to solve
the following morning
she takes
her bath so early
and washes
herself
her sorrow away
her
insecurities about
being unloved
(her own crude
way of thinking
and evaluating
things)
she goes to the kitchen
and cooks the feast
for her husband's
breakfast
(me?)
all the while
thinking
the basic principle
that the best
way to make
him love her
again
is always through
his stomach
and he laughs
the hardest
this morning
he will have
another day
of indigestion
because
he has to eat
more & more
if only
to please
her
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem