In recognition of April as National Poetry Month and the idea that there are many ways of saying and thus hearing things said, I thought I’d share a poem from my collection titled, Breathe Out…
Wisheda Coulda Woulda Shoulda
Wished she coulda woulda shoulda understood his disease before
her lovely mouth no longer framed her laughter — clenched instead in a steady
spew of fury over hopes and dreams betrayed; convinced
a ceaseless cascade would make him stop.
Wished she coulda woulda shoulda understood his disease before
her carriage morphed to bear her forbidding disapproval for his endless binges
and broken promises and the incomprehensible menace that engulfed them but which
they could not name.
Wished she coulda woulda shoulda understood his disease before
her expressive eyes hardened into opaque orbs — memory’s net shredded
on the shards of resentments, incapable of dredging forth
the good times and with them the light.
Wished she coulda woulda shoulda understood his disease before
she saw him as his drinking and hated him for not loving her enough to stop,
something she couldn’t wouldn’t shouldn’t have done, if only she’d understood;
he had a disease.
© Lisa Frederiksen
