Work Late

By Sophia Aigner

The long grass tickles my legs 

It always wants attention

The sun radiates through the atmosphere,

Blinding my eyes

I stare anyway

I look anywhere except at him

Our bodies stand close, yet our love watches from afar 

He tells me he “works late”

But I smell the perfume on his clothes

I see the crimson lipstick on the corners of his mouth

It is most vibrant when he says “I work late”

As my hands rest on my stomach,

Protecting the child that grows inside,

I begin to think.

I want my daughter to know the same man who I fell in love with

I want her to see the same man who held my hands

And kissed me on the cheek

I want her to marry someone who doesn’t “work late”

His fingers lay bare and naked

The ring sits by the window collecting dust 

He knows I see it

He knows it tears me apart 

He knows he doesn’t “work late”

How can you acknowledge the truth

When you are blinded by love?

I tell myself he loves me 

But I know that’s like saying “I work late”

As the sun is swallowed by the sky, 

And replaced by a layer of darkness,

I stand alone under the moonlight

Our love is now a speck in the horizon; consumed with the sun

A tear rolls down my cheek in the Cape Cod evening

Because I know he doesn’t “work late”

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