The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2005

Desdemona Falling

My love sits in his chair, hands clasped around his head,

washed in blue t.v. glare and blaring volume.

On the screen a young man speeds through the country

morning but arrives too late to stop the wedding.

My love weeps, why, I know it is not a question

for the television. I feel guilty. Have I done something

worthy of this question? He falls deeper into himself

beyond my palm. The wedding party is in an uproar,

everyone looks to see who knew—but this is not

a story of star-crossed lovers. And here my love listens

to the demons chewing the heart I adore. I fall

to his feet, try to touch but he pushes my hands away.

My tears on his shoes. The tardy man on the t.v. screen

grasps the bride’s hand, they dash from the church.

The groom and party yell, make wild gestures

then slump in helplessness. Out of habit I reach

for his handkerchief I know is lost to catch my tears.

J. P. Dancing Bear