A History Of Silence

My husband lied about everything.

Money, meetings, mistresses,
the birthplace of his parents,
the store where he bought shirts, the spelling of his own name.
He lied when it was not necessary to lie.
He lied when it wasn’t even convenient.
He lied when he knew they knew he was lying.
He lied when it broke their hearts.

My heart. Her heart. I often wondered what happened to her.

The first one.

There is something pure-edged and burning about the first infidelity in a marriage.

Taxis back and forth.

Tears.

Cracks in the wall where it gets hit.

Lights on late at night.

I cannot live without her.

Her, this word that explodes.

Lights still on in the morning.