Pros & Cons

You carry compassion like loose change,
but possess pride like flesh,

shadowing and shading the essence of you
and your choices,

a sword and shield held to your breast,
ready for the battle,

and it is a battle now.

Why aren't you sorry?

The phone rings behind me,
my heart jumps,
our home phone and you've stopped calling it,
texting instead, or hoping for voice mail.

But it rings, and they ask for you and I cry when I say
you no longer live here,
but you do,
your stuff lives here, compartmentalized in disarray,
only the good stuff taken;

I am housing the shell of you.

I could list your pros and cons and make myself feel better:
betrayal, a con;
denial, a con;
cheating, lying, sneaking, faking the marriage for six months while you had foreplay,
but never sex (a virtue you've welded to your integrity), a con;
pride, ego, insecurity, a con;

But your mom is a great cook,
and I think,
that's what I'll miss the most about you.

I've erased the shadows and shading,
uncovered the essence of you,
and your choices.

And mine?

Going blonde to compare,
bleaching to relate,
to become another woman you might want to illicitly love,
allowing you to stray, as you've done; as you did.
Blonde and dieting,
working to lose the baby weight;

Does it occur to you that I was nine months pregnant the first time you engaged in foreplay?
But keeping your version of integrity intact,
you stayed inside me, pretending it was her.

I bleached, I starved, I cried.
Alone, a con;
Caring, a con;
Loving wholly, a con;
Liking your mother's cooking, a con;
possessing compassion like flesh,
carrying pride like pennies...

A con.