<\/p>\n
This morning, in Providence, I awake<\/p>\n
to my wife’s face and I think of<\/p>\n
Angelina, the bleary-eyed saint of<\/p>\n
messed-up sheets and blankets,<\/p>\n
how her right arm flops over<\/p>\n
and covers the breast of Brother John<\/p>\n
who, while he doesn’t consider<\/p>\n
this the joy of all joys, at least<\/p>\n
prefers it to her ubiquitous snoring,<\/p>\n
and then there is her thigh, the<\/p>\n
former Convent of Saint Brittle,<\/p>\n
nudging against mine and the current<\/p>\n
occupants, the blessed middle-aged<\/p>\n
moments in time stare out at lesser beings<\/p>\n
soaked with rain, chilled by bitter winds,<\/p>\n
up to their knees in mud and filth and<\/p>\n
hungry as the Urchin of Babylon,<\/p>\n
my ears half-listening as these poor souls pound<\/p>\n
on the door, plead for someone to come out<\/p>\n
and maybe shoot them in the head,<\/p>\n
slit their throats, toss their bodies in the gutter,<\/p>\n
anything to escape the raw pain<\/p>\n
of living in the shadow of this house,<\/p>\n
of not being the couple who reside within,<\/p>\n
their dawn yawns, early breath, what they<\/p>\n
consider a life, a place, far too good for them,<\/p>\n
and I remember my heretic brother,<\/p>\n
how he was converted by Amanda,<\/p>\n
the Sunday school teacher, and how fluids<\/p>\n
flowed from one to the other like the<\/p>\n
blood of St Pius the Pious, and life came to them<\/p>\n
in the shape of Abbey and Sammy<\/p>\n
but haven’t repeated the pleasure<\/p>\n
within this Cathedral-like abode<\/p>\n
as my wife’s eyes open, a phosphorescent green,<\/p>\n
an Arcadian brown tinge, at once in<\/p>\n
the sun’s first rays, and I make a pact,<\/p>\n
the same one as yesterday, that I will always<\/p>\n
treasure this gift of Antagonistes, the patron<\/p>\n
saint of relationships, as I roll over toward<\/p>\n
the edge of the bed, lift my body on<\/p>\n
spindly legs to the cold but beckoning floor,<\/p>\n
to the sound of preaching birds and<\/p>\n
spluttering radiators, praise-singing blood,<\/p>\n
the usual window-fare of church and<\/p>\n
traffic, hills and houses, even a touch<\/p>\n
of love and lust that falls just short of<\/p>\n
the need for coffee, a brush across the teeth,<\/p>\n
the perils of the dream-buggy I call my<\/p>\n
sleeping self as it rejoins the world,<\/p>\n
from bed to the stairs to the Porta del Kitchen,<\/p>\n
the coffee maker extraordinaire while upstairs,<\/p>\n
the creak of a footstep suggests my wife too<\/p>\n
has taken the plunge back into ordinary life,<\/p>\n
supported by floorboards, watched over by a ceiling,<\/p>\n
as she bathes her eyes in water,<\/p>\n
appeals to the light for whatever pleasure<\/p>\n
it may deem to give, follows the trail to where<\/p>\n
a little affection, by common consent, exists in<\/p>\n
fitful speech, but is clung to, referred to constantly<\/p>\n
hi the spilling of sugar, the grip of a milk carton,<\/p>\n
even small offerings of prayer in which we beg<\/p>\n
that we never lose this for, if it has not given<\/p>\n
me everything I want, it really does fill my needs,<\/p>\n
even at 6.00 a.m., when I hold her briefly,<\/p>\n
indulge myself with a peck on the back of the neck,<\/p>\n
as if that’s how love checks in while sleep checks out\u2014<\/p>\n
amen..<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
John Grey This morning, in Providence, I awake to my wife’s face and I think of Angelina, the bleary-eyed saint of messed-up sheets and blankets, how her right arm flops over and covers the breast of Brother John who, while he doesn’t consider this the joy of all joys, at least prefers it to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":50,"featured_media":0,"parent":17,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-82","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","clear"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/50"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=82"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":703,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/82\/revisions\/703"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/17"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/17-2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=82"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}