I know that I make a bad wife

I feel it when you make dinner again and do the dishes

when you ask me to eat just a little more

or if I can keep my head up, maybe

to see this part of the film, your favorite

when Bill Murray gets into trouble on that submarine

or if, just for a minute, I might have energy to sit up or get out of bed

to see the cicadas crawl on the kitchen window glass, and the

neighborhood strays hide under the canopy, you ask me

if it were today, I’d sit with you on the porch and

we’d have the coffee you made without needing to reheat it

without souring the cream

and I would be tasting the sweet sugar all the way at the bottom

because we had spent an hour naming the birds in the garden

some robins, jays, and two perfect cardinals on the fence basil planter

and you could put your hand on my knee

pat it a few times in quiet signal to getting up

and we’d rinse out the mugs you made on yet another of my bad days

because I had left you alone again from our bedroom

because it was raining

so you couldn’t plant my favorite flowers like you wanted to

so you filled our home’s insides with a bright and vibrant yellow too

my favorite color and what you say I make you feel

but I know I am sunflowers rotting

despite the beautiful light of your sunshine

but tomorrow I can be a drop of honey

tea that I can pour swirling into your mug

that I can say, look, love, it’s another perfect robin and she’s bathing herself

how lovely that you made a bird bath, dear, for our garden

and someday the garden will be full of flowers who never spoil

and you will always love me this much