It's as though he doesn't see the piles of clothes, the holes in the walls, or even the tears in my eyes.
Sometimes it seems like he's numb...he's just part of the room.
I worry about him (about us) , and wonder if I'm doing a good job...a job I'm not supposed to have to do.
I wonder if he realizes by now that I've taken her place.
I'm standing (shaking) . Trying not to burn the food. Trying not to season it with my fears, as I hold them close to my eyes.
Why is everything so wrong?
I've tried so many times to put away the clothes, cover up the holes, and even wipe away my tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem