28 May 2012
We landed first in the honeymoon period. Intimate nights, no ghosts to be afraid of.
Only after that time had gone Could I rebuild the place where it had all gone wrong.
The swollen joint at the base of his hip Where his leg came undone, the seam had ripped,
I felt carefully at the wheezing hole Where his ribs had broken in and torn out his soul,
The crumbling collar bone, traumatic loss That had bled out when the Landrover tossed,
The twisted spine, the aches that had come To the target of that blasted bomb,
The blown out hinge of his once strong jaw, A result of our countrymen's petty war.
The sweaty stitch on his brow at night That could almost split as he sits up in fright,
The pain in his eyes as he sees that his girls Know Daddy can no longer give them a twirl,
His cracked lips that can no longer kiss While the stitches remain, warmth sorely missed,
The tense of his body at the slightest sound We tiptoe like field mice when he's around.
Only when I vaguely comprehend the pain God's planned Can I rebuild my broken husband.
Ribs Of A Ghost • Opuss № I