Dead Wife’s Song

a sonnet for all the lost women

Photo by Kenny Luo on Unsplash

When we first met, you wanted me to be
Your sexy woman: made-up, dressed up, shameless.
Before we even married, you demanded
That I turn into something faceless, nameless.
You said you loved me, so I did it freely,
Not seeing clearly what was in your eyes:
So when the love I saw became possession,
Soft hand turned fist, imagine my surprise.
Worse yet than fists–those words that cut so deeply
That to avoid them I’d pretend submission
And also kept a bag packed, hidden carefully,
My face a model of subdued contrition.
Too late, I learned you didn’t see divorce
As a better choice than deadly force.