Your Faith Was Strong But You Needed Proof
Your faith was strong but you needed proof.
Proof in me? in us?
What is proof, anyway?
Like any word say it enough times
awkward, unpleasant, alien in your mouth.
What is proof? I’ve never cared to know.
Proof of … what exactly
you, me, us?
Proving yet again that you can be as ponderous as you are loving,
as exhilarating as you are dull,
proving that – after all these years --
you are still as stimulating to me
as you are
I close my eyes.
I am faithful to the moment,
this moment, to
this minute, to these minutes, hours, days
to the weeks, months, the years and years and years with you
here on our couch,
I am faithful to this particular second.
Your faith, you say, is strong.
but you need proof,
crumple backwards onto the couch --
did someone punch the air out of you – yet again?
give me that look that I know so well.
That look –
you turn your eyes to me
as you always have, as you always do
And me? I react
I react as I do faithfully – no proof required –
I react one of three ways:
I pivot my back to you, quiver, try to compress my rage into a thin-lipped line
I yawn, wonder what’s on tv
I get up and leave the house
Today -- all three.
Today I rise, turn my back,