~KATHRINE VARNES~
FOUR SONNETS
FROM "HIS NEXT EX-WIFE"
As I recall, he
wasnât willing to
bail
on anything, not least the
idea
of marriage.
Sailing the bay with his
sister
and his parents,
I replied to his mother
who used
the word veneficial
"What does that word
mean?" his
intellect hot on the trail,
"And how do you know a
word I donât?"
Off her chair slid
his sister, laughing, "My
god, sheâs
your wife, not a parrot!"
He managed to smile,
though poisoned
by betrayal.
What should I say to
ex-wife number
two?
"He wouldnât come to
counseling
when I asked him to,"
I offer up, then hear her
scoff,
"I wish
heâd done the same
with me. Iâm
so damn pissed.
He admitted that he lied
to our
therapist.
I paid for that!" Talk
about billets-doux.
"I paid for that
talk." As
for bills come due,
he was buying time. Turns
out we
both nicknamed him
Golden Boy, just after we
stakeclaimed
him ÷
his thick head of hair and
charm
÷ from an earlier fool.
"Trouble like water off a
duck"
heâd say.
He gave anxiety itself the
slip.
Once, a handshake got him
a scholarship.
Maybe pole vaulting taught
him how
to pray
upside down, propelling
himself
through air.
Or maybe sailing taught
him he should
catch
the wind for speed. Maybe
he had
to fib
like when, fourteen,
heâd rig the
backyard latch
so he could sneak out sans
parental
care.
But why? Did he do
anything? He
did.
But why did he do
anything he did?
Remember his patient
instructions
for driving stick:
the logic of gears, the
grace of
a smooth downshift.
He stayed calm on the
hills, no
matter how far back we slid.
His favorite cookbook was The
Frugal Gourmet.
He rarely repeated
mistakes and
laughed till aching
at mock dog snack
commercials of
my making.
He loved the film Sex,
Lies,
& Videotape.
His best, his
worst÷alluring ingredients
I still canât
detect. I tell
his wife (whoâs riled
up anyway) how we met for
breakfast
last year.
"I know" she says, too
clipped,
the edges tense.
"And later, on errands,
did he disappear?"
I was in my hotel room
when he called.
"When I was in my hotel
room, he
called."
"He called on that same
day?" (I
was surprised
but pleasantly. During
breakfast
weâd tried
remembering our
landlordâs name,
a bald
Irish cop, retired
÷ a fair and
solid
sort of guy who
hadnât overpriced
our place like he
mightâve. Was
recalling his name a guise?
Or was it wrong for me to
feel appalled?)
"Yes. And we talked for
maybe 20
minutes,
but his voice was reedy,
and I heard
electric
buses switching lines,
folks talking.
To pin it
down, I asked where he was
for our tête
á tête ÷
a pay phone outside a drug
store."
His old trick
acquiring new interest
like an unpaid
debt.
© by Kathrine
Varnes
