Wife

I’m not yet comfortable with the word,

its short clean woosh that sounds like

life. At dinner last night my single girls

said in admonition, It’s not wife-approved

about a friend’s upcoming trip. Their

eyes rolled up and over and out their

pretty young heads. Wife, why does it

sound like a job? I want a wife, the famous

feminist wrote, a wife who will keep my

clothes clean, ironed, mended, replaced

when need be. A word that could be made

easily into maid. A wife that does, fixes,

soothes, honors, obeys. Housewife,

fishwife, bad wife, good wife, what’s

the word for someone who stares long

into the morning, unable to even fix tea

some days, the kettle steaming over

loud like a train whistle, she who cries

in the mornings, she who tears a hole

in the earth and cannot stop grieving,

the one who wants to love you, but often

isn’t good at even that, the one who

doesn’t want to be diminished

by how much she wants to be yours.

 

Ada Limon, The Carrying (Milkweed Editions, 2018)