A Loving Wife

There is this woman
curled beside you
in pleated dreams
of Noah's dove and ark.
She is comely, kind and
wears her slippers in the yard
so as not to soil her feet.

She is not the one from Leningrad
who left with scissored paintings
in her purse.
Nor the one of Saudi stars
retired to slatted blinds
and mosques.

She breathes in cadence
- a domestic drum -
will prepare breakfast
after the alarm
and when you leave,
tidy up the room.



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