Two little bottles

Stuffed in the pocket

Who was it who left them

To be found out by me?

Six little ounces

One empty, one full

Bitter the sweetness

Black leather jacket

Two little bottles

Stuffed in the pocket

One for each hand

Who was it who left them

To be found out by me?

Dear Jace it doesn’t have to be like this

We could stop being against each other

And stop short of being for

We can acknowledge that we were two people

Once loved one another

But always wanted more

I always wanted love and affection a partner, parity play

You always wanted a housewife

You never want to a friend

And neither one of us changed

And so we grew apart

Now our lives are separate

And we don’t live in each other’s hearts

We do live on the same planet,

The same town, the same life

At least as far as our children are concerned

They’ve carried enough strife

So let’s put down our swords

Let’s pick up our palms instead

And let’s move toward peace for tomorrow instead of fighting with each other today.

I took the route through my old neighborhood this morning in the way to the OB/GYN. A seemingly unnecessary appointment as I’ve already felt the lump. The “diagnostic” radiologist will squeeze me in two weeks. So why do I need to come here today, to have them confirm that I need a specialist? I have no idea.

Over the weekend I spent too long watching old home movies. I saw with my own eyes how sweetly I nurtured my baby girl, taught her things like singing, measuring flour, and ice skating. Where was Jace? Behind the camera “correcting” me when I moved inconveniently into his shot. 

All he had to do was be kind. It was really all I ever wanted, all I ever needed. But he was incapable. I never felt supported, heard, appreciated. It’s all right there on film. The frustration in how he said my name, like it was a burden on his tongue. As if what he really was saying was, “Do I really need to remind you yet again?” Or, “You really are so incompetent. When will you ever learn?” as I moved to my right so that Lucy could be in full frame. Me, pregnant with our second, squating to explain to our daughter about ducks and princesses at Disney World. 

I loved being married. I loved being a family. Being a neighbor, a friend. I never wanted anything more.

The last time I had a diagnostic mammogram, 6 years ago, when I called Jace to tell him I needed a biopsy, he replied, “Ok. Get the test. What’s for dinner?” 

I was always so alone. And so, today, as I put on this wrinkled, teal gown, open to the front, I am by myself. I am by myself, but I am not alone.