Those days in Puerto Rico, all those years ago… the mornings of dread
Looking around the corner to see
how crazy is he today, as opposed to yesterday
Last night he was up at 2 am (I was just coming home from work)
The TV was aglow and the sound on low
so as not to wake the baby (whom he probably ignored all evening)
“It’s the 700 Club,” says Husband excitedly, as Pat Robertson droned on like a snake charmer about the Book of Revelation.
“Big things coming in the year 2000, it’s all going to change,”
to which I replied ever so patiently, “Husband, Jews don’t watch the 700 Club.”
He looks at me wild-eyed, so I go on, as one must on these occasions: “We don’t own a Bible, but if we did, you can’t just skip over the whole New Testament, ignore Jesus’s teachings, and dwell on the scary parts at the end. Cuz I remember, there is some twisted stuff in there.”
(I wasn’t a Christian in those days, but even I knew that much.)
After months of pleading for him to get help, it came down to post-midnight conspiracy theories about the Second Coming, even though he didn’t believe in the First One.
Two Weeks Later
He boarded a plane back to New York that week. I sat up and realized it would always be my turn to take care of the baby, which was fine by me. The sun was so bright, the room seemed to shine, my heart was light… and I burst into grateful, happy tears.
I realized that it had been forever since I woke up with a smile. Hence the tears.
Hence the divorce.
© 2024 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For What’s Going On. The prompt from my friend Mary was about morning… I went further afield than I meant to, per usual! If you are new to writing poetry, you can jump right in. The folks at that blog are very supportive. Wishing you all a good night’s sleep – and a lovely tomorrow. Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 
Sherry Marr
Amy, I so relate to being maried to someone whose thinking diverges so wildly from one’s own. Hence, my divorce, and the morning it was finally over, I remember Hippity-Hopping down the street, pushing the buggy with two babies inside, a young one leaping by my side, all of us giggling. Free at last. I totally get where this poem is coming from. And yes, it is always we mothers who shoulder the load. So glad to see you at What’s Going On…….
susanstoo
Wow. After so many fraught mornings, the one that freed you earned its tears of relief. A powerful poem, thanks. And thanks too for the kind words in your end note. I love to see you here.
Sumana Roy
I love the light of love and sunshine of smile at the end. Walking the path of tears suffocate and freedom is breathing with a smile. Thank you for joining us Amy.
Mary
Sigh, I wonder if the 700 Club still exists, not that I would be watching it.
Sounds like a real wake-up call, Amy! Glad you came out on the other side & have a MUCH happier life!
Anne Schoenemann
And later, you were there for me. Love you.
Sharp Little Pencil
We shall discuss over coffee – there is so much the two of us share. Nice to see you on my blog, Anne, my sister.
alan1704
Interesting read and thought provoking – happy tears . well done
dorahak
I remember Pat Robertson did sound like a snake oil salesman– shudder–and that smile pasted on his face! How beautifully you set up this pivotal moment in your life with just this type of detail, taking us there with you, the subsequent relief and joy that you were free, finally, of the ties that not only bind but constrict. That morning light — may it shine on!
lifelessons
Happy ending!
Sharp Little Pencil
Sherry, I had a feeling you could relate. Hippity-hopping, yes!!
Rajani Radhakrishnan
Wow..that’s a brave piece.. I don’t know what that show was about but I love that there was sunshine in the end…and that feeling of liberation from something so absolutely not working.