Better Off Divorced?

We would have been better off divorced,

we would have stayed friends.

Then there would be that chance each day

of meeting you in the grocery store, at the Café.

We would pause and get caught up on each other's day

like we used to do when you would pick me up for lunch -

discuss our sons, the grandchildren,

make plans for the next school holiday with them,

you naturally taking the whole day off, me carving out time to join.

You would describe your itinerary for spring break –

where the girls’ would insist on camping,

where Ronan would be able to run.

We would discuss what equipment you need

and whether it was in the attic or at your place still

(the camping equipment naturally considered community property still

and we would swap it back and forth).

I would need to call you to get the canoe on top of the van

for you know I’m too short and the aluminum too unwieldy.

Weekends you would let me know of an upcoming game, any rainy day movie,

any event requiring a Nana in attendance.

And on theater day, we would meet at your daughter’s house,

divvying up the kids; you taking the toddler for a rough & tumble Guys Day

while the girls and I went to see this month’s play.

You would meet us for ice cream after.

We would have taken my van in October to Setniker’s Farm,

for it fits the car seats, the stroller and any pumpkins they choose

and the cookie crumbs brush out.

Our oldest probably would have moved in with you,

sharing whatever tiny apartment you felt suited your practical needs –

or you would have moved in with him.

Our youngest, still in college, would have stayed home with me;

I would have insisted. You know I don’t like an empty house.

We would have traveled to auditions and rehearsals together

for you dislike wasting money & gas.

You would have dropped the old dog off with me when you head to the forest.

Watch the house for me when I’m out of town;

you and the two boys batching it –

playing chess, moving furniture out of the way when you wrestle

as if you still live here.

If the pipes burst, you would have come over –

grousing and complaining – but showing up and with your tools.

Insist on teaching me how to repair a pipe

for the eventuality of when you’re not there.

Like now.

I would have been happier as an ex-wife

than I am as a widow.

Ariel

March 3, 2011